


Surfacing Taken

by imonlyobsessed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Alcoholic Dean, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood and Gore, Bottom Sam, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Hurt Dean Winchester, It's For a Case, Lack of Communication, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, POV Alternating, Possessive Behavior, Season/Series 02, Spanking, Top Dean, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imonlyobsessed/pseuds/imonlyobsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A werewolf hunt leads the boys into the local BDSM community in a way that changes their relationship forever.  And they're Winchesters, so of course nothing can be easy.<br/>*****SEE AUTHOR'S NOTES******</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *****SERIOUSLY HORRIBLE BDSM PRACTICES***** Like, this shit is not acceptable, irl. Written because I'm lazy and just wanted to get the fantasy out, not adhere to good, safe practices or, you know, reality. Do not ever treat anyone or let anyone treat you they way they start. Bad kinkster, no cookie.  
> Side pairings are only touched on briefly, not in depth.  
> This started as a pwp for kattgotmytongue over on LJ because she wanted Sam in eyeliner and in water ala Laurell K Hamilton's Jean-Claude. Obviously, something went horribly wrong with that attempt.

Dean was the one who figured it out finally. They had spent the better part of two weeks going over reports, talking to the victims’ families and friends, and scouring the crime scenes. They knew what it was; they knew how to kill it and had cases of silver bullets just waiting to be used. Now if they could just _find_ the damn thing. For the last six months, bodies had been found around every full moon, all of them missing their hearts. Unlike San Francisco, the bodies were showing up all over the freaking city. Fucking werewolf was treating this place like his personal buffet.

Columbia, Missouri wasn’t a metropolis but the population was over 100,000 and in typical, Midwestern fashion, these were people who liked their space. The town sprawled over an area of 60 square miles; too much for two or three men to patrol. The only upside that the sprawling, college town had was that it was strangely secluded with no suburbs to speak of. Columbia just sprang up along the interstate as I-70 meandered through the rolling forests of Missouri, surrounded on three sides by conservation areas. In lieu of suburbs there were a few, scattered farms and privately owned lodges; which amused Sam to no end since the sixteen blocks around the college were crammed with sushi bars, coffee houses and everything an over-caffeinated college student could want. Still, with no suburban-hell to get lost in, the bastard had to be inside the city proper.

Part of the problem was that none of the victims seemed to be connected. They were all over the city, worked different jobs for different companies, went to different churches, frequented different bars and, as far as anyone could tell, these people had never met. Four women and three men, ages from twenty-four up to thirty-eight and the only thing they had in common was what killed them. The Winchesters were getting desperate with only one night left before the full moon started. If they didn’t figure it out tonight, then people were going to die. They needed a lead, _now._

The copies of the police reports and autopsy files that agents "Bloom" and "Dharma" had walked away with were spread out across the hotel table in front of Sam like a demented Rorschach of blood and gore. Dean sat across from him scowling down at the macabre collage as if he could force the answer from it. Shadows ringed his eyes and deep worry lines etched between his brows, dangerously close to becoming permanent if he kept that pissed off expression for much longer. It seemed like the shorter time got, the shorter Dean’s temper was.

Case in point: “Christ. What the fuck are we missing?” Dean shoved away from the table and started pacing the room, trying to burn off some of his nervous energy.

“A clue?” Ok, maybe Sam knew better than to bait Dean when he was like this, but words popped out before he could stop them.

“You’re hilarious.” Dean had mapped out a circuit in the small room from his seat at the table to the window, along the short span of wall, across the room to the bathroom door and back to his seat. He rolled his shoulders as he walked, trying to ease some of the stiffness in his neck. The room was too small, too confining. There was tiger print and a horrendous yellow-orange color everywhere that made it seem even smaller and more claustrophobic. Dean thought it was a damned stupid idea to do a hotel in the school spirit. It looked less like a theme and more like an eighties rock video had exploded. He had to get out. “Maybe I should go talk to the families again.”

Sam sighed, “And say... what, exactly? We’ve got nothin' new, how ‘bout you guys?”

“Well, it’s gotta be better than sitting here, staring at his left-overs!”

Sam’s eyes flicked back at the photos, just long enough for his mind to connect them with eating and his stomach to lurch. Jesus. Dean’s teasing be damned, he was ordering nothing but salad for the next month. “Dean, we’ve talked to them, the real FBI has talked to them, and the cops have talked to them twice. They got nothing to give us. Just… sit down. Re-read the reports. There has to be something here. These people are connected somehow; we’re just not seeing it.”

Dean sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Fine. Whatever. I’m gonna get a drink, you want anything?”

“Sure.”

Dean nodded and was gone, the door slamming behind him. Sam took a deep breath that wasn’t nearly as calming as he needed it to be and pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, making the world go black and red, overlaid with the after-image of the window. This whole situation sucked. Hollywood had only been a couple days behind them when they’d gotten a call about the werewolf. How badly he had failed Madison was still fresh in his mind. Maybe he hadn’t actually loved her, but he had liked her, cared about her, and he definitely felt responsible for her. No amount of logic was going to change that. This situation was different, but it had him on edge all the same. He wasn’t stupid; he knew why Dean was just as on edge. Dean knew Sam was upset and he was trying to protect him, which wasn’t possible. He couldn’t do anything, which was pissing him off and making him irritable. God knows they were both tired of having death on their hands. For one selfish moment, Sam wished that they had passed the case by, called Bobby, and sent it to someone else. But they had been the closest hunters available and they couldn’t avoid werewolves forever. So Sam was pissed off, because he couldn’t change the past, and Dean saw it and was pissed off because he couldn’t protect Sam, who knew why Dean was pissed which pissed him off even more, and round and round it went. Every conversation they’d had for the last three days had ended in a fight and Sam was getting tired of it. Tired of the fighting, of having to be the sensible one, and not being able to be who Dean needed him to be. He was tired and, damnit, he wanted to just lay it all down for a while and be done with it.

Dean slammed back through the door, soda cans in hand. Sam looked up just in time to see the red and white blur flying at him. He managed to catch the can and only just stopped himself from slamming it down on the table. Knowing why they were both pissed wasn’t actually making it any easier to deal with. “Great. Thanks. Way to be a dick.”

“What? You wanted a soda, I got you one.”

“You threw it at my head!”

“Don’t be such a pansy. I tossed it, and it didn’t go anywhere near your freakishly large head.”

“Whatever, dude. Just don’t take your anger issues out in soda.”

“I could always take them out on you, that’s what family’s for, isn’t it?”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, “Sure, Dean. You love me so much you’ll beat me. It’s for my own good, right?”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” Dean let out a pained grunt as he dropped back into the chair, his back already protesting the position. What was it that made hotels seek out the most uncomfortable chairs ever made? Sam went back to ignoring him, refocusing on the reports, and leaving the crime scene photos to Dean. Dean’s stomach rolled at the idea, the sticky sweetness of the coke suddenly cloying in his throat. Fuck. He could do this because they had to stop the damn thing and soon. He wasn’t going to let some poor schmuck die because he pussed out. Forcing his stomach back down where it belonged, he slid the closest picture over and picked it up.

The second victim, Vivian Masters, had been twenty-six years old. A beautiful girl with liquid green eyes and a flawless coffee and cream colored complexion. With a smattering of freckles across her cheekbones and long curly hair, she was easily the most beautiful woman Dean had ever seen. The fact that being dead didn’t change that left Dean fighting the urge to start tearing things apart. Her abdomen was a gaping hole. The soft skin of her stomach shredded and even in pictures he could see that her killer had clawed, actually fucking _clawed_ , its way through her. There was a light pink, almost opalescent, glare of bone visible where it had snapped her rib cage back to get at her heart. Her neck shifted at an odd angle, visibly off center where it had been broken in the initial attack. She was the lucky one. The reports said that the other victims had been gutted alive. This thing was focused, no chases, no playing. It took its victims down and started ripping into them. It made a bloody ruin of their midsection but left the rest of the body strangely intact. Vivian was still wearing most of her shirt and jeans and a leather cuff around her right wrist.

Unfortunately, nothing seemed particularly odd about her. Sighing, Dean moved on to the next photo, victim number five. Lance Michaels, thirty-four, body found on a walking trail around the college. That had pretty well put a stop to five am jogs around campus. As far as Dean could see, it was the same as Vivian; stomach a shredded mess and a gaping hole where his heart should be. His head was tilted back, over the edge of the sidewalk he’d landed on, so at least Dean couldn’t see his face. Just the wife beater stained rust red and the shadow of stubble growing in spots along the guy’s jaw like a bruise were visible.

Frowning, Dean dug out another photo that had a slightly closer headshot. Actually, he was pretty sure that was a bruise. Like Lance had worn something with a chinstrap too tight. “Hey Sam? Lance Michaels, did he have any old or unusual bruises?” Papers shuffled across the table while Dean squinted at the picture.

“Yeah, but nothing major or recent. There was a contusion along his jaw, unknown, and a couple on the insides of his thighs, just above his knees. Apparently, Mr. Marathon had a home gym and those are probably from the leg press, why?”

A lock clicked in Dean’s mind. “What about Vivian?” Dean’s eyes went immediately back to the cuff on Vivian’s _right_ wrist.

“Um… yeah, on the back of her right thigh and buttock. It looks like she might have been hit, but the bruises are _weeks_ older than the attack. Dean, what are you thinking?”

“That maybe someone loved her enough to beat her.”

  
“Wait, what?”

Dean was already out of his chair and grabbing his jacket. “Go through all the autopsies again and look for bruises or cuts _not_ caused by our furry friend. I’m willing to bet they all have them.”

“Dude, what am I missing? And where are you going?” Sam yelled, too late, as Dean slammed out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Chris answered the door blinking blearily at Dean. “What are you doing here?” Her long, blonde hair was snarled and limp, obviously untouched for days. Deep rings darkened her brown eyes and left her cheeks sharp in contrast. She still looked better than his last visit. “You’re not FBI. They came by a couple days ago to talk to me and didn’t know anything about you. Go away before I call the cops.” She turned, trying to shut the door in his face.

“Wait, please.” Dean stopped the door with his hand, “Ok, we lied, we’re not really cops. We’re private sector but we really are trying to find the killer. Please, just give me a couple minutes, answer a couple of my questions and I promise you, you’ll never see me again.” Chris stared at him for a moment before she moved to the side, letting him into the darkened house. “Thank you.”

She shut the door behind him and all but fled further into the living room. The small room was still littered with trash; paper cups, food wrappers, half drank bottles of beer covering the coffee table and end tables. Most of the dark blue couch was lost under a blanket and pillow, and there were clothes strewn over the recliner, trailing down into a forgotten laundry basket. But the curtains were pulled, even if the blinds were still closed, and she had at least started to do laundry. The heart-stopping grip of desperation in the house had seemed to ease, just a little. Chris collapsed on the couch, face tilted up at Dean expectantly. Sighing, he perched on the edge of the chair, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “I’m pretty sure that you’re not gonna like what I need to ask you, but I have to know.”

Small tremors had already started shuddering through her small frame, her angular shoulders hunching even more. “Go ahead.”

Briefly, Dean wished he could’ve had Sam with him to do this part. For all his size, people always seemed more comfortable talking to Sam. Dean couldn’t think of a good way to ask so he just went for it. “Vivian was more than your roommate, wasn’t she?” Chris blinked at him, eyes slowly watering. “Chris, was Vivian your lover?” She bit her lips together as tears slipped down her pale face and nodded silently. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

She huffed out a bitter laugh, almost involuntarily. “Her family didn’t- Her parents are real religious, you know? She never came out to them. She didn’t want them to think she was a freak.” Christine’s voice cracked on the last word and a fresh wave of tears started. “She didn’t want them to know, so I wasn’t going to tell them.”

Dean nodded, as if he understood. Spotting what he hoped was a clean napkin on the table; he pulled it free from the debris and offered it to her. Her hands only shook a little when she took it. Jesus, he did not want to push this. “It was good of you to follow her wishes like that. I promise that anything we talk about won’t be shared with anyone other than my partner.” Chris ducked her head, swaying locks of her stringy hair in front of her face. Shifting awkwardly, Dean cleared his throat and continued, “Were you and Vivian in a… special kind of relationship?” What little color she had left drained from her face, leaving her pale enough that he was afraid she might faint. Her eyes flew to his, wide and watery over the clutched napkin and even her breathing seemed to stop. Feeling like the world’s biggest asshole, Dean went for broke. “We may have found a connection between the victims. It seems like they were all in BDSM relationships or at least deep enough to play the local scene. I have to know, was Vivian you’re sub?”

The choked off sob she made carried a world of grief and regret. Dean never wanted to hear that sound from another human being for the rest of his life. She completely collapsed in on herself, sobbing and babbling almost incoherently, words tripping over each other in their rush to spill out. Just this once, he hated being right.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was out of his chair as soon as the door opened, absolutely needing to beat his brother into the floor. Possibly with a large stick. “Dude, where the hell were you?”

“Finally getting our break. So, did all of the victims have old injuries?” Dean crossed to his bed, still cringing at the hideous tiger-gold comforter, to toss his jacket down. He cocked an eyebrow at Sam expectantly.

Sam glared back before answering, “Yeah. There were bruises on pretty much all of them, and one had old cuts made by a blade or sharp object. What the hell is this about?” Sam watched Dean as he paced the room again. Christ, he was going to dig a rut in the floor with his freaking pacing.

“Ok, so I went and had a talk with Chris, Vivian’s roommate. Apparently, she and Vivian had a somewhat unique relationship.”

“Meaning?”

“They weren’t just lovers, Chris was Vivian’s Dom.” Since Sam continued to look confused Dean continued, “Her Dom. Her Top. Vivian was a Sub.”

Sam opened his mouth, closed it, went to speak, and stopped again.

“Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, no, I know what you’re talking about I just-” Dean waited, watching Sam’s eyebrows draw closer together as he processed it. “I’m kinda surprised, I guess. She didn’t seem like the type. Hell, I didn’t even think they were together. How in the hell did you figure that out?”

Dean cut his circuit of the room short at the bed and went to the table, grabbing the picture of Vivian. “That.” He pointed at the cuff on her right wrist. “The bruises on the second guy were a little odd too. I mean, who gets bruised on their jaw?”

“Ok, I’m still confused. How the hell does a bracelet and a bruise equal, ‘beat me please’?”

“Don’t be an ass. Look, the bruise is simple enough; it looks like it came from a joint ring on a bit-gag; the ones on his thighs are probably from him fighting a spreader bar. I’d be willing to bet my favorite shotgun that the cuts are from knife-play or something similar. And the cuff would have been a dead giveaway, if I’d been looking for it. This is the Midwest; people can’t exactly walk around wearing collars, so wearing some kind of cuff on the right wrist is a sign of a sub.” He stopped when he finally notice Sam’s face. “What?! Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How the fuck do you, of all people, know that?!” If Sam’s eyebrows had crawled any higher they would have left is face entirely. Dean just flushed and looked away, suddenly very interested in the tiger print on the chair pads. Sam waited, expecting Dean to drop the hangdog, aw-shucks act and admit to watching some epically bad porn. It took Sam an embarrassingly long time to get it.

He couldn’t have been more surprised if Dean had suddenly professed a love for cross-dressing. Less, actually. Dean had never admitted to anything, but Sam remembered what kind of freak Rhonda Hurley could be and, well, her little sister might have been just as bad. But this? Dean was strong, the strongest person Sam had ever met, and a fighter to boot. Sam couldn’t imagine for a moment, Dean _letting_ someone hurt him. The idea sent blazing little shocks down his spine and had him closing his fist unconsciously, his protective nature flaring. He took a deep breath and forced the question out. “You? You _let_ someone…” Dean squared his shoulders and met Sam’s eyes, dead on. Defiance was clear in every line of his body, a simmering anger that stopped Sam in his tracks. “I’m not judging, Dean, I just- Why? I mean, you get beaten and stabbed on a regular basis, why would you want that?”

Dean was already shaking his head, even before Sam had finished. “It’s not really about the pain, man. It’s about letting go, letting someone else have more of the control. I mean, ultimately, it’s still on you. You choose whether or not anything’s happening or if you’re going to stop, but that’s it. Everything else is taken care of by your Dom. Besides, I only bottomed a few times. I realized pretty quickly that I don’t make a good sub. I’ve topped more than I’ve bottomed.”

“But, how?” Sam still couldn’t connect the idea with the Dean he knew. His Dean was a protector and a fighter. He killed evil and saved the innocent. He was a freaking hero, Goddamnit! How did that compute with someone who would lie down and take a beating? Not just take it, but ask for it?

“You know what? No. We’re not talking about it.”

“But, Dean-”

“I said no! Damnit, Sam. Shit happened while you were gone having you’re perfect, freaking normal, ok? I didn’t just sit on a fucking shelf and do nothing! Now, I said we’re not going to talk about it, so we’re not fucking talking about it!”

Sam hunched on himself at the reminder. No amount of telling Dean that it was never _him_ Sam ran from ever seemed to get through. A cold weight lodged at the bottom of his chest. Quietly he sat back down on his chair.

When Sam didn’t say anything else, Dean relaxed a little, rolling his shoulders. “Ok. Like I was saying, I went and talked to Chris. Only one other victim had a girlfriend and I can check with her later, but I’m positive that the others were subs too. Apparently, no one has put two and two together yet.”

“So now we know why it’s choosing its victims, but we still don’t know how to track it.”

Dean gave a mirthless smile, “Actually, I’ve got that covered too. This area is too conservative for the local scene to be official. There are no clubs or bars within 100 miles of here. The closest fetish bar is in Kansas City, something like three hours away. Chris said that she and Vivian met at a private party on the outskirts of town two years ago.”

“How does that help us?”

“One guy is throwing these parties three or four times a year. Next one is scheduled for tonight.”

“So we go talk to him.”

“Not quite that simple. Maybe I didn’t stress how conservative this place can be. I mean, this state still has sodomy laws on the books. Law enforcement shows up asking questions, this guy is going to insist on a warrant or something. Chris said he probably wouldn’t talk to private sector either, no matter what they were looking into. He’s real protective of his guests.”

“So we’re P.I.s, now?” Sam crooked an eye at him.

“Well, the Feebies had already caught up with her, screwing our story six ways from Sunday, and I needed in the damn door. Besides, that’s a little more true that us being cops.”

“Fair enough. Where does that leave us?”

“Going to the party ourselves. Chris said she’d sponsor us.” He held up a hand, stopping Sam’s question before it started. “He’s protective enough that if you don’t have a written invitation, which we obviously don’t and since he hand writes them we can’t even fake one, then one of the regulars has to sponsor you getting in. She got the okay from him and gave me the time and address.”

Sam stared at Dean for a moment before dropping his head into his hand. He kept his eyes closed and was massaging the headache forming behind his eyes when he spoke again. “So, you’re saying that in order to follow up on our only lead, we have to go to a sex party.”

Dean sounded mildly chagrinned, and more than a little amused, “Pretty much.”

“I hate this case.”

Dean’s laugh was more genuine this time even if it was still bitter, “I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

“And what could possibly be better?”

“Chris told him we’re together.”

“WHAT?!” Sam’s head snapped up, eyes wide and mouth dropped in horror. Oh yeah, that headache was blooming into a full migraine.

“Partners, remember? We told her we were partners; she doesn’t know that we’re brothers. So when she got on the phone with him, she told him that she wanted to sponsor a couple new to the scene. Besides, there was no way she could sell that she just happened to know two singles that just happened to want to come to the party together. So we’re a couple. He agreed to let us use her and Vivian’s invitations.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ. We’re not doing this.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam, “Yes, we are.”

“Dude, there are so many ways this can go wrong.”

“Well, we don’t have much of a fucking choice here, Sam! This is it. Tonight is our last chance before this son of a bitch starts killing again, so if you have a better idea, then I’m all ears.” Dean cocked his head expectantly in Sam’s direction. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and fucking tired of people dying because I wasn’t good enough.”

That brought Sam up short. “We can’t save everybody.”

“No, but I can save these people. So suck it up, because we’ve got a job to do.”

Sam sighed, “So what, exactly, are we going to have to do tonight?”

“Well, you won’t have to do much; wander around, keep your eyes open while I talk to some of the other Doms.”

Sam froze when the implication of Dean’s words hit him. “No. Dude?!”

“Well you certainly can’t go in as a Dom. You have no idea what you’re doing so no one would believe it for a second. At least going in as my Sub, you don’t really have to know anything. You just have to do as you’re told. And I’m serious about that, Sammy. We get in there tonight; you have to do any and everything I tell you, no fighting and without question. No matter how out there it seems. Otherwise, no one is going to buy anything we’re selling and we'll be screwed. We need what these people know, Sam. Hell, one of them is probably the killer.”

“How out there are we talking?”

“I don’t know. I’m not there yet. I won’t let it get too weird, just trust me.”

“Fine, but I get radio rights and to pick lunch for a week.”

Dean scoffed, “Bullshit. For wandering around and doing nothing? One day.”

“Five days.”

“I’m not listening to five days of 13 year-old girls whine about their boyfriends. Two days.”

“Three and I’ll give up the lunches.”

Dean watched his brother, noting the almost turn of his lips. This was going to be so bad. “Deal. But it doesn't start until the job is done.”

Sam’s smile neared on being feral. “Deal.”

“Ok, then. Good.”

“Alright, so what do we do now?”

“Now, we go and find something for you to wear and I’ll give you a crash course on how to behave. If I’m stuck with you then you can at least look good. Maybe not as good as me, but good enough.”

“Fantastic.” Sarcasm practically dripped in his voice. Sam stood and stretched his arms above his head, hands brushing the ceiling as a series of soft clicks traveled down his spine.

Objectively, Dean knew that Sam was a good-looking guy. Come on, he was Dean’s little brother, how could he be anything else? But knowing that and _knowing_ it were two different things and the only way Dean could think to get through this was to view Sam as a prospective sub. So while Sam was stretching the kinks out of his back Dean let himself look, really look, at the man Sam had grown into. He’d bulked up since they’d started hunting again so he was well-muscled, broad shoulders and chest tapering down to a slim waist. Obviously, his legs were forever long, and Dean knew they were toned, even if Sam hid them in those ridiculously baggy jeans. He had long, strong arms that could wrap all the way around someone, holding them tightly with huge hands, calloused and capable. Sam wasn’t just good looking, he was fucking hot. That shocked Dean to his core. Jesus, where had little Sammy gone? Where was that gawky, coltish kid that was all elbows and knees and chubby cheeks? And who in the hell was this guy, who had nothing awkward about him and high, sharp cheekbones? He’d noticed some changes when he went to pick Sam up from Stanford, sure. But it was as if Dean had stopped seeing him after that. One minute he’d been this stranger, pushing and panting where Dean had him pinned to the floor. The next, Dean was the one pinned and this kid was smug and smiling, dimples and all, and just so _Sam_ , that Dean stopped seeing who he was. All he’d seen was Sam, his Sammy, just done a little older. This? This was not his Sammy.

“Dude, why are you staring at me like that?”

“I just realized something.”

“What?”

“We get to grant one of your wishes today, Francis. You get to play dress up for a couple hours until we can find something for you to wear.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Dean offered up a smile while he pushed that fluttering, scared feeling in his chest down.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Two hours later found them still wandering the curiosity shops of Columbia’s college district. It seemed that even in this part of the Midwest no one carried clothes in Sam’s size. Dean had been grumbling since the second shop, mutters of ‘freaking sasquatch’ as he shuffled down the aisles of store after store after store. They’d talked as they’d walked, laying out their cover and the basic plan for the night. The story was going to be that Sam was new to the scene and Dean wanted him to learn and be more comfortable with it. That way, Sam could wander around watching and there would be more leeway if he slipped up sometime during the evening. Dean covered the absolute basics of behavior with him, likening it almost to walking into a fight. “Stay with me at first, either at my side or a little behind me, but I take point. Anybody that wants to talk to us is going through me. Be respectful, but the only one that should have the upper hand with you, is me. I may be the only one you actually talk to all night.”

“Jesus, what am I, a toy?”

“Hell, no! A good Sub is much more valuable than that. A sub isn’t just something to fuck and show off. It’s someone that should be taken care of, provided for. Loved, even. Don’t get me wrong, there will be singles there just looking for a good night, but they will be interested in the other singles or will go to the dominant of the relationship to see about sharing. The couples there will be exactly that; couples. These people will be in a relationship, some monogamous, some not. Just depends on the couple.”

“Who taught you all this?” Sam looked sideways to see the ticking in Dean’s jaw. “Right, not talking about it. Of course.”

“Let’s try this one.” Dean ducked into a shop just ahead of them with handcrafted leather displayed proudly in the window, the name _Ozzy’s_ across it. Biting his cheek, Sam followed him in. The shop was definitely colorful; clear spotlighting instead of harsh fluorescents, white and black tiling covering the floor, and posters for every rock band of the seventies and eighties covered the dark wood walls. The full, earthy scent of treated leather coated his tongue, almost stuffy after the harsh fumes of passing traffic. The racks were scattered across the room, seemingly at random, and leatherworks of every color and kind were hanging from them.

“Hey, can I help you guys with something?” A head popped up on the side, topping a rack of… chaps? Dear god.

“I hope so. You carry any pants in Land Giant sizes?”

“Depends, is it a full giant or a half giant?”

Dean snorted and Sam just stared at the guy. “Uh...”

“How tall are you, son?” The guy walked around the rack and towards them. He vaguely resembled an aging hippie. His salt and pepper hair was long and shaggy with a beard to match. There were crows-feet visible around his too thick glasses and laugh lines around his smile. The fact that he was wearing a tie-dyed Grateful Dead t-shirt and jeans didn’t hurt either.

“Oh. Around a 36-ish. Depending.”

The salesman nodded and motioned them down the aisle next to him. “This rack here should do it. All leather, as you can see, runs from thirty-twos up to thirty-eights. Something in here should fit. You need any help, let me know.” With that, the guy wandered back over to his chaps.

“Ok then. Let’s see what you’ll squeeze into.” Dean started flicking through the selection, which was fairly impressive for the sizes. “How about these?” He pulled out a pair with a slim waist and double buttons and turned to Sam, who flicked his eyes to them and looked away.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

A blush crept over Sam’s cheeks. “I don’t think they’ll fit.”

“What are you talking about, they’re long enough. The waist measurement matches. They should fit fine.”

“Dude, you’re not getting it. They won’t _fit_ , they’ll be too tight.” The blush spread over Sam’s entire face and started down his neck as he pointedly started flipping through the other pants.

“Why wouldn’t- oh. _OH._ Way to go, Sammy! Did you finally get to be a big boy after all?” Dean’s smirk bloomed into a full-fledged, shit-eating grin.

“Well, someone in this family had to.”

The smile dropped off Dean’s face as quickly as it came. “Hey.”

“Find something else.”

“Yeah, alright. Here,” Dean handed Sam another pair, single-button wide-legs that would be snug at his hips and across the back, but loose everywhere else. “Try these, then, princess. See if those cater to your delicate sensibilities.”

“Whatever, Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam rolled his eyes and headed toward the back dressing room. Dean rifled through the rack again before he looked over and saw the salesman watching him with an obviously amused expression. “He, uh- We. Yeah.” Sighing he followed Sam back, trying to ignore the soft chuckles behind him. He reached the changing room the same time Sam opened the door and stopped Dean in his tracks. The black pants did nothing but accentuate all the height Sam had on him. He’d stripped down to his white, V-necked undershirt and the combination made him look hard. Dangerous.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Why?”

“You won’t be wearing one tonight.”

Sam looked like he wanted to argue but he jerked his shirt up over his head and tossed it in the room behind him before continuing to glower at Dean. Dean forgot to breath. That hadn’t helped. At all. Now, instead of the stark, white cotton, there were miles of toned muscles and sun kissed skin. And the ink. Can’t forget about that. That spot of darkness in all that skin just drew attention. Dean couldn’t decide if it led the eyes down to the lines and slopes of his abs or up to the stubble of Sam’s jaw. His eyes were dark and hooded making the slant more apparent, more foxlike. His hair was as dark as the rest of him but soft looking; long and shaggy, perfect to get both hands in a good grip, and already ruffled from having pulled his shirt off. Stripped down, he didn’t look hard so much as he looked wild, feral. The idea that Dean was supposed to be taming _that_ flared a pool of warmth low in his body. He knew how high Sam’s pain tolerance was. Add to that the fact that Sam was a stubborn bastard, and he knew, Dean just _knew_ , how far he would have to go to break Sam that first time. How much pain it would take. A little humiliation and denial wouldn’t cut it. No, Sam was tough enough that he’d probably be able to take a cane, straight off, and be fucking _writhing_ for more. That powerful body arching back, into the lashes, flushed dark red and panting and… and…. Jesus Fuck! He really just thought that about his brother. The warmth in his body seeped away, leaving Dean with a nauseous, twisted feeling that was suspiciously like guilt.

Dean had to clear his throat before he could speak. “That’s not going to work.”

Sam threw his hands up, “What’s the problem now?”

“It’s too aggressive by half. You don’t look like a Sub, you look... violent. We’re going to have to find you something softer.”

Sam actually growled at him and Dean tried very hard to ignore what that sound did to him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. We just spent two hours looking for leather pants! What are we looking for, then?”

“You’ll know when I tell you. Now go put your pants back on.” Dean had meant to be snappish and angry, but that wasn’t how came out. It came out deep and calm, like an irrefutable fact, as if he was issuing an order that he knew would be followed. It came out the way he sounded when he was running a scene. He realized it as soon as he spoke.  

Anger, Sam had been ready for, knew how to fight, but calm and authoritative threw him off guard. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on in Dean’s head, so he stowed his argument for another time.

Sam’s eyes met his for the briefest moment before he turned away without a word. That silent acquiescence sent more than a little blood rushing south, giving him the comfortable weight of anticipation. When the dressing room door clicked shut, Dean took a haggard breath and scrubbed his hand across his face, willing his dick to behave. This job had been fucking with him since the start, but this? He just needed to get laid. No, he needed to actually run a scene. He needed the rush and the almost love-like feeling he got when someone trusted him and let him actually take care of them, give them everything they needed. It had been too long. He hadn’t wanted to risk it once Sam had been back on the road. It would mean leaving Sam unattended and poking around after the demon while he found somewhere to go. And he definitely didn’t want to search for one on Sam’s computer. Nosy bastard. As soon as this job was over, he was demanding a break. Maybe down near New Orleans, there was a large group and a couple of great clubs down there. He could play it off as giving Sam some mental-health time or some shit. He just had to suck it up and get through the night.

Sam came out, leather pants in hand. He was back in his jeans and white shirt, but his over shirt was unbuttoned and flapping loosely around him and damned if that didn’t make him look younger which twisted Dean’s insides a little. He walked a little hesitantly as he joined Dean, obviously waiting to see what Dean was going to do. “Come on. We’ll have to try somewhere else.”

The salesman had moved to the counter when they put the pants back on the rack and headed to leave.

“You guys not find a pair that fit?”

“No, they fit. I just realized that they weren’t what we were looking for.” Dean gave the guy the smile he normally used on witnesses, cheerful but warm as a light bulb.

“Well what are you boys looking for? Maybe I can help.”

Dean glanced at Sam before continuing, “Nah. Leather just isn’t going to cut it. I’m gonna need something a little softer for princess, here.”

Sam scowled but the guy laughed good-naturedly and waived them over to the counter. “Here,” he said grabbing a business card and scribbling on it. “You’re on Broadway now, go two blocks down to the 5th street intersection, and hook a left. Another block down and make another left into Alley A. Go to the third shop on the right. Give the lady behind the counter my card and she should help you.”

“Uh, ok?”

The man smiled and handed them the business card. “I know for a fact that she’s working on some stuff that will fit your boy here. Just trust me and head down there.”

“Thanks?” Dean took the card a little hesitantly and pocketed it. “Ok. Thank you for your help.”

When the door dinged closed behind them Dean looked back at the guy already out in the racks. “Hippies, dude. I swear.”

“So are we going to try that other shop?” Sam looked down the street before looking back at Dean. “It’s not like we’ve got anything to lose by it.”

“Fair enough. Lead the way, Samantha.”

Sam crossed the road and headed down the sidewalk to 5th street. The walk only took about ten minutes before they found themselves staring at a window display completely done in tie-dye.

“I told you. Friggin' hippies, man.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam walked up the steps and followed Dean through the door. The layout was the same as Ozzy’s had been, counter on the left, racks and tables scattered randomly through the building. There were more pieces of tie-dye than should ever be allowed in one place, screen-printed sheets hanging on the walls and ceiling, and incense so thick it clogged the throat. There was a woman behind the counter, probably late-thirties or early-forties, her red hair pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled politely at their entrance and went back to sorting the papers on the counter-top.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Dean headed to the counter, “We’re so sorry to bother you, but a gentleman at another shop told us you might be able to help us.” Dean held out the card tentatively, as if he wasn’t sure of its welcome. She took the card with another polite smile and read it. Then she burst out laughing. Dean looked and Sam and shrugged.

“Here, read the back.” She held the card out for him.

                _They’re shy. Don’t be a bitch. Hugs and kisses_

_–Ozzy_

“What the hell?”

The lady, her name tag said Kathy, laughed again, and shook her head at them. “It’s fine. It just means he knows I’m not going to want to sell you whatever it is you’re looking for. So, what are you guys looking for?”

Flushing lightly, Sam shuffled as he answered. “I need a pair of pants that will fit me. We seem to be having a hard time finding them long enough.”

“I bet. Shit, boy, you’re more than half leg and I bet you’re proportional too. Do you actually get your clothes off the rack?”

His blush raged across his face and down his neck. “Most of them. With a little difficulty.”

Dean stepped slightly in front of Sam and drew Kathy’s attention, “We need something a little less aggressive than leather. Something that allows for ease of movement but doesn’t look like, you know, pajama pants.”

Kathy looked at Dean for a moment before she skipped past him to Sam. Her eyes ran down his body, taking in his clothes, the way he held himself and his stance. Dean, not so subtly, stepped in front of her again, his polite smile straining at the edges. She turned her attention back to him, a too-knowing smirk turning up her mouth. “Well, Ozzy was right.”

“What?” Dean’s eyebrows drew down in confusion.

“I don’t want to sell it to you. And he knew I wouldn’t.” She held a hand up; stopping the protest she could see forming. “That’s not to say that I won’t, just that I’m reluctant. Come on, boys. Come ‘round back.” She walked past the end of the counter and towards the back of the building and through a door marked, ‘employees only’. Her voice carried out to them along with the sounds of hangers sliding across metal. “You see, I get a lot of orders from the local pagans. Always a group holding some kind of gathering or another and a lot of them, men especially, want special outfits to wear for ceremonies and rituals and whatnot. I’ve got two or three regulars that are about that height. Here we go. They order these costumes two or three times a year, so I’ve gotten to where I start on them a little early. I always do a couple of different colors, just in case.” She walked back out the door with two outfits hanging from her arm, one black and one white. “Here. It’s a tunic and pants. The tunic has a Nehru collar and long-sleeves. I’m not sure those would fit you, but we can try. The pants are kind of a cross between the pants you normally get with a tunic and a Gi. They’ve got a ¼-inch flare, so they should be fitted at the top, but loose and maneuverable the rest of the way down. And it’s a light, loose-woven canvas, so they’re durable and machine washable, but still soft and breathable. Most of these little shindigs are outside. They’re also drawstring, which will help I think.” She started to hand them both over and stopped. Kathy looked Sam over again and handed forward the black pair. “No. I don’t think you’ll even need the white ones. Dressing room’s over there.” Her smile was more than a little filthy as she shooed him off.

Dean watched her watch Sam’s ass as he walked away. A couple of different feelings warred inside him. He knew one was pride and the other? Well, the other he absolutely refused to name. “So, if you’re so reluctant to sell this to us, then why are you?”

Kathy looked back to Dean as Sam walked into the dressing room. “Because Ozzy asked me to. He’s a good guy like that.”

“Must be a really good friend.”

Kathy raised an eyebrow at him, amusement still clear on her face. “I should hope so, since he’s my husband.”

Dean’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “No, that wasn’t what I was- I didn’t mean-”

“Yes you did. And that’s ok, because if I had been leering any harder it would have been considered sexual harassment. Hell, it may be anyways. I’ve always enjoyed a good view and with you boys… Well, the scenery’s nice. But that’s one of the glories of age, getting away with stuff like that.”

Dean flushed, “You’re not that old.”

Kathy laughed, full throated and clear. “Yes I am. In fact, I’m old enough to be your mother. But Botox and hair dye are wonderful things and with their help, I might look as good at sixty as I do at fifty. Chances are that even then I’ll still be leering at pretty young boys like you. But don’t worry, honey, anyone with half an eye can see who that boy belongs to.” Kathy’s eyes skipped back to the dressing room and widened, “Oh, my.”

Dean turned to see what the problem was. Sam was stalking towards them wearing nothing but the black pants, shirt and shoes left behind. The pants were loose around him, giving the impression that they were just barely staying low on his hips, and were long enough to give glimpses of his bare feet as he walked.

“I do believe we’re practicing the same religion.” Kathy murmured next to him.

“That’s a terrible joke.”

“Only if you get it.”

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam joined them. “Well?”

“It looks good.”

“ _Very_ good.”

Dean slanted a glare at her before looking back at Sam. “Are they comfortable?”

“Dude, I could sleep in these things.”

“What about maneuverability? Obviously walking isn’t a problem, do you think you can move in them?”

“Should be alright.”

Dean walked a small circle around Sam, trying to get the full effect. He paused at Sam’s back. The pants sat almost as low in back as they did in front, just resting on the swell of Sam’s ass and yep, his ass was just as impressive as the rest of him. Sam’s arms were relaxed and his head turned down and to the side, trying to watch Dean. Dean set his hand on the back of Sam’s neck and gave a gentle squeeze before he finished walking around. “You’re sure that you won’t have any problems running? They’re not gonna trip you up or fall off are they?”

Sam shook his head, a confused look on his face. Dean was a little confused himself so he turned back to Kathy, who wasn’t quite drooling but wasn’t far off. “Can we buy just the pants or do we have to get the outfit?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, no. Just the pants is fine, means less I’ll have to redo. Damn. I seriously need to rethink that ‘no shirt, no shoes’ policy.” Sam blushed hard, red running down his face and chest, which set Kathy to laughing again. “Oh, you are adorable. Go; put all of _that_ ,” she motioned vaguely at his chest, “away so we can get you boys rung out.”

Sam glanced at Dean, who nodded, before turning back to the dressing room. They both watched him walk away in silence, neither of them willing to look away until the dressing room door closed behind him.

“Damn. You are one lucky man.”

Dean looked over at her fond smile and didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t had a chance to protest earlier and it seemed a little late to bother now. “How much for the pants?”

“Well, since you boys might have just given me the thrill of the year, how’s twenty bucks?”

“That’s it?”

“Well, you’re only taking the pants, and I’ve got time to remake them. Besides, it’d be a shame if no one else ever got to see that.”

“Jeez. Does your husband know you’re this much of a lecher?”

“What do you think?”

“I think we’ll take the pants.”

“Nice. Come on, sweetheart. I’ll get you rung out.” He followed her back to the register, pocketing a business card while she keyed it in. “$21.48, dear.” As the credit card ran, Sam joined them dressed again with the pants thrown over his shoulder. Kathy clicked her tongue and handed Dean the receipts. “Well, you boys have a good day. Please, feel free to visit me again.”


	5. Chapter 5

The party started at eight and Dean wanted to slip in a little later, after the initial rush. So they had plenty of time to get ready when they finally made it back to the hotel. Sam snagged first shower while Dean went back out to get them something to eat. Sam did some quick research of his own while Dean showered, but was disappointed by how little he found. Every site wanted to promote alternative lifestyles, but said next to nothing about how to live one. The only real advice he got from the forums he found was, “be attentive, trust your Dom”. By the time Dean had walked back into the room, Sam had given up and decided just to follow Dean’s lead. They got ready, Sam putting on the pants and the shoes he would wear for the car ride over there. Dean put on his newest and tightest jeans and a crisp, black, button-down shirt. He even buffed his black boots. He sat on the end of his bed and watched Sam tie his shoes. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the package he’d bought from Walgreens out of his jacket pocket. Uncapping the pencil he called to Sam, “Come here for a minute.”

Sam stood at the end of the bed, looking at him questioningly. “No, come here.” Dean pulled his wrist until Sam kneeled on the floor between Dean’s legs.

“What?” That was when he saw the eyeliner. “Dean, no. Dude, this isn’t a Goth party.”

“Yes, Sam. And trust me, you won’t be the only guy there tonight wearing it. Not by a long shot. It will help you look softer, less of a threat. Now look up and hold still.” Sighing heavily, Sam looked towards the ceiling and tried to keep still as his brother moved what amounted to a sharp stick toward his eye. Every time Dean got close, Sam jerked out of reflex. “Jesus, Sam. You act like I’m going to blind you or something.” Grunting, Dean grabbed Sam’s face with his spare hand. “Now hold still!” Once Dean actually started, Sam relaxed and let him line both of his lower lids. “Good, now close your eyes. Not too tight.” Sam did as he was told and Dean leaned close, running the pencil over Sam’s right eyelid. He just wanted to line them lightly, enough to darken Sam’s eyes but not enough to make him look gothic. Keeping the pressure light, Dean swept over Sam’s right eye a couple times. Before he did the left, Dean realized that he’d let go of Sam’s jaw and was just cradling Sam’s face in his hand. He could feel Sam’s breath tickling across his wrist and down his arm. Without realizing it, his thumb trailed over to rest on Sam’s lower lip. Immediately, Sam’s eyes flew open, making Dean almost stab him. “Close your eyes!” Sam’s eyes slammed closed. Sam’s lips were a little chapped but warm and the breath that gusted over Dean’s skin was moist and hot. Quickly, he finished Sam’s eye and dropped both hands. Sam took that as permission and opened his eyes to look at Dean. The heat Dean was already ignoring curled around in his body when he got a good look at Sam’s eyes. The brown-black liner ringed them spectacularly, darkening them slightly but making the flecks of blue-green stand out even more brightly. Sam was still kneeling between Dean’s spread legs, arms still rested carelessly on the tops of Dean’s thighs, just looking at him, with questions that Dean absolutely did not want to answer plain on his face. Especially not when all he could feel was the heat of Sam’s body seeping into his jeans. “There. Now you’re the Belle of the ball.” And no, his voice should not be that soft.

Sam stared at him a moment longer before deciding against whatever he’d been ready to say and getting to his feet. “How come you get to be comfortable and makeup free?”

Dean smiled, “That’s the great thing about knowing what I'm doing. I don’t have to wear something a little more out there to blend in. You do. Don’t bitch, that’s at least comfortable. I could be making you wear fetish-wear. I’m sure there’s at least one sex shop around here that sells it.”

Sam lost a little coloring at that, “You wouldn’t.” But he didn’t sound so sure.

Dean could feel himself sliding into that quiet, grey space he went into when he topped someone even as the back of his mind was doing a constant litany of _no bad no no bad no._ “Don’t push me tonight, Sam.” With that, he scooped up his keys and headed out the door.

 

 

The ride out to the party was quiet; each of them lost in their own thoughts as they left behind the city proper and went out into more forested areas. Sam couldn’t quite get a handle on Dean’s behavior. All day long, Dean had been throwing out orders and Sam had been listening. Any other time Sam would have questioned him, argued every little point, just because he could. Because Dean had always sounded just a little hesitant, a little unsure, like he didn’t believe himself. But something had been different about Dean all day. A sense of self had crawled out of nowhere and made every decision the right one. There had been no second-guessing; every order he’d given, even the non-verbal ones, had this new confidence. Like Sam’s obedience was a foregone conclusion. And for the life of him, Sam couldn’t figure out _why_ that was. He didn’t know what had happened to change Daddy’s Little Soldier, parroting all of Dad’s ideas, into the man Sam always knew his brother could be. He just knew that seeing Dean like this was putting a warm, comfortable feeling in his chest. It was the same feeling he used to get when he’d hit all the targets in practice, or beat Dean’s time tearing down and reassembling a gun, and look over to find Dean grinning at him. That feeling of P _rideHomeSafteyLove_ that he’d always gotten from making Dean proud. It had been years since he’d felt that. He hadn’t even noticed it was missing until now.

The gravel road they were on made one last curve and ended, stopping in the driveway of the only house. Sam wasn’t entirely sure, but he didn’t think there had even been a streetlight in quite a while. There were already a dozen or so vehicles parked along the road. Dean pulled over at the end of the line and parked. They listened to the quiet ticking of the engine blending rhythmically with the chirps of cicadas and tree frogs out in the forest and took in the house in front of them. Sam was a little disappointed. It was a simple, single story ranch with a two-car garage. It seemed to be a little larger, sprawling out wider than most, but there wasn’t anything else unusual about it. He knew it was stupid, but he’d expected there to be some kind of difference, some mark, to show what they were about to walk into. As it was, it looked like an upper-middle class home and the party they were about to walk into could have been anything from an extensive business dinner to a frat party.

Dean reached across him and pulled an envelope out of the glove box  “Take your shoes off. I don’t want to risk losing them.” Sam toed out of his shoes and peeled off his socks while Dean untied the leather bracelet from his wrist. “Here, give me your right hand.” Sam held his arm out and let Dean put the bracelet on him. “There, now you’re a sub but not collared. Let’s go.” Sam fell in line behind and a little to the right of Dean as they walked up the driveway to the only visible door on the side with the garage. Even standing on the porch, they couldn’t hear any music or unusual sounds and for some reason, that made Sam even more nervous. He was half-convinced to call it off when the door opened. The guy that answered seemed as normal as the house, average height and build, blue jeans and a button up shirt, plain brown hair, and brown eyes. The most remarkable thing about him was how unremarkable he was. The guy took a glance at both of them and turned to Dean, “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I was told there was a party tonight that we could be a part of.”

“Do you have an invitation?”

“Well, I have a friend’s invitation. She couldn’t make it and got permission for us to come instead.” Dean fished the envelope out of his back pocket and handed it over. The guy read the invitation quickly before nodding. “Yeah, guy told me about that. Come on in.” He opened the door farther and stood to the side, giving them room to pass.

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him through the door as he turned to the doorman, “So what is this guy’s name, anyway? I don’t think Chris said it once.”

The doorman laughed and closed the door softly behind them, “No, his name _is_ Guy. You know, like Guy Fawkes or Guy Fieri.”

“Well, that’s… distinctive.” Dean spared a glance at Sam before turning back to the doorman. “I’m Dean. This is Sam.”

“Robert. I’ll pretty much be manning the door all night. But, the living room is just down this hall, that’s where most everyone is. Guy should be there or in the kitchen. Go meet up with him and he’ll go over our rules with you. He’ll be the one in all brown.”

Dean nodded his thanks and headed down the hall. Sam crowded close enough that Dean could feel him like a wall of heat at his back. “Relax.” He could hear Sam take a steadying breath as they passed into the rather large living room. The walls were all white, which only added to the large appearance. A quick sweep of the room showed about twenty people milling around, most talking, some a little more involved. A few people were in fetish-wear, a few were in leather, and a lot were only half dressed. There were enough people that the furniture wasn’t visible, you just knew that it was there because they had to be sitting on something. The wall that extended from the hallway ended in a wide archway, a table and chairs only just visible from where they were standing. Dean didn’t see anyone in all brown so he headed towards the kitchen. A few people looked their way, some very appreciative glances sliding over Sam making Dean’s jaw tighten, but most were just curious at the arrival of new people. No one tried to stop them or speak to them, and they made it to the kitchen without any hesitation. As soon as they walked through the archway, Dean spotted Guy standing next to an island bar. He was tall, somewhere between Dean and Sam in height, and he was broad, not fat but solid. His head was clean-shaven but he had a blonde goatee and dark blue eyes. Guy reminded Dean of some wrestler that had been popular when he was in high school. But it was his outfit that caught Dean’s attention. Robert the Doorman was apparently a master of understatement. Guy was wearing chocolate, form-fitting leather pants, the calves of which were lost under matching leather boots, and a light brown silk t-shirt. He even had a set of broad, woven leather armbands. It should have been ridiculous, but with his size, the overall effect was more warrior-like than anything. Dean led Sam over to the bar and waited for his chance to speak with their host.

Guy noticed them quickly enough and shooed off the woman he had been speaking with. “So, I assume that you are Chris’s friends.”

Dean smiled and held out his hand, “I’m Dean, that’s Sam. Thank you for letting us come tonight. I really appreciate it.”

Accepting Dean’s hand, Guy smiled. It changed his whole demeanor, his eyes crinkled and he seemed to light up with good will. “You’re welcome. I apologize for making it so difficult, but I have to protect my guests, I’m sure you understand. So, tell me about yourselves. Chris said that you’re new to the scene?”

“Well, we just moved here a couple months ago. I’ve been in the scene for a few years, but Sammy is still learning.” Dean put his arm around Sam’s waist and pulled him up to Dean’s side. Sam just smiled tentatively and leaned into Dean.

“How long have you been together?”

Dean smiled wickedly, “We’ve known each other all our lives, but being a couple is pretty new.”

”Well, I hope you gentlemen have fun and maybe learn a few things tonight. I only have a few rules, but I absolutely expect you to follow them. We do have some alcoholic drinks and you are welcome to them, but moderation is a must. We’re here to have fun _safely_ and you can’t do that drunk. My house is like Vegas, what happens here, stays here. This is a conservative area and some of these people can’t afford for anyone to know about their lifestyle. That’s their right and I expect you to respect that. Other than that, it’s the same as any party. No fights, don’t trash the place, and have fun.”

Dean smiled and nodded his thanks then led Sam away. A large family room took up the back of the house. People were socializing there too, though this room had the addition of a stage-like area near the left wall with a St. Andrew’s cross and a table of instruments. A spanking bench had been pulled forward and a petite woman who was mostly naked was kneeling down, getting ready. Dean felt Sam go tense next to him and tightened his grip, pulling Sam through the crowd of people lining up to watch. The floor plan was open and inviting. Once they got past the knot of people, the far wall was floor to ceiling windows and a sliding door that led to the back yard. A quick glance out the windows showed that the yard was fenced in and divided into sections by bushes. They could also see lights hung and more people.

There was a small hallway on the other side of the family room that could only lead to the bedrooms. Dean pulled Sam into the relative privacy of the hallway. He waited until they were out of immediate sight before he let go of Sam’s waist and turned to face him. “Ok, there’s about thirty people in here plus however many are out in back. We’ll wander around for a while, pretend to socialize so a few people see you with me, and then we’ll split up. You keep an eye out here and in the back yard; I’ll take the front living room and kitchen.” Dean waited for Sam’s nod before settling his arm around him again, hand curved around Sam’s hip, and heading back into the room.

The people in the room had mostly shifted to stand near the stage area. A few had stayed back, murmuring quietly from their seats on the couch at the back of the room. The sound of a paddle falling was constant now, accompanied by the gasps and whimpers of the girl on the bench. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam blushing. He couldn’t remember Sam blushing as much in his life as he had today. Dean couldn’t help but smirk as he led them up to join the crowd watching. The girl on the bench was small, too thin for his taste, but her pale skin reddened nicely. She fought every lash, squirming around and jumping as much as the restraints would let her. The man demonstrating the paddling was adequate, but Dean had seen better skill. He kept them there for a little while before he got bored and led them back through the kitchen into the front living room.

He hadn’t seen Guy in either room but it didn’t take long for someone to want to talk to the new guys. A middle-aged brunette approached them first, making polite small talk and shortly after, a younger man joined them. When Dean realized he would be there for a while he turned to Sam and pointed to the ground, “Down, Sam.” Sam glanced at him before lowering his eyes and dropping to his knees on the pale hardwood. The rush that roared through Dean like a wave was inexcusable, but he just smiled and put his hand on the back of Sam’s neck, gently rubbing the knobs of his spine and threading fingers through Sam’s hair while he talked to the guests in front of him. Eventually, he felt the tension ease out of Sam when he realized that, while he wasn’t being ignored exactly, nothing was really expected of him either. It still surprised him when Sam turned and rested his head on Dean’s hip and wound his left arm around Dean’s calf. He tilted Sam’s face up as he looked down, years of reading each other made the “ _You ok?_ ” clear to Sam without Dean having to say anything. Sam gave a slow blink then practically nuzzled his face against Dean’s side. Dean let it go and brushed Sam’s hair behind his ear before settling his hand on the side of Sam’s throat. He was still sweeping the room, watching the general flow of people and keeping an eye out for aggressive behavior. The crowd parted just right and he saw a couple directly across the room from them. The woman standing was impressive, but her slave was what caught his attention. She was on the floor at her mistress’s feet, practically wrapped around her legs. He almost smiled. Sam wasn’t stupid and Dean should have known he’d start taking cues from his surroundings.  

Dean kept conversation going with whomever walked up to them. He casually mentioned their recent move and their surprise to find out about the violence in the area. He watched carefully but saw no recognition when he mentioned Vivian by name. And while the various guests seemed as shocked and outraged by the murders as the general public, they didn’t act as if it affected them in any way. Absently, Dean started stroking his thumb back and forth across the pulse point behind Sam’s ear and down the hinge of his jaw. Sam shivered just a little when the edge of Dean’s nail scraped lightly across his skin and he shifted, pressing closer into Dean’s side, baring more of his neck. Neither of them realized it until Sam brought his arms up, his left hand sliding up to rest just above Dean’s knee, and wrapping his right hand around Dean’s ankle.

Dean paused when he felt the lazy way Sam curled further around him. That was when he noticed that he had moved his hand and was casually running his nails up and down the vein in Sam’s throat. Sam shivered again, which sent a little thrill through Dean. Looking down, he was a little shocked by what he saw. Sam had turned so that he angled more toward Dean and had pressed himself as close as he could. His eyes were still open and he was still watching the crowd, Dean knew, but he looked…. Peaceful, was the only word that came to Dean’s mind. He was doing his job but he was still taking comfort from the touches and obviously trusting Dean to keep him safe. Dean’s chest squeezed tight, shortening his breath. He dropped his hand from Sam’s throat and held it in front of him murmuring a soft, “C’mere.” Sam took the hand to steady himself and rose to his feet. Dean quickly excused them from the group that had gathered around them, citing a need for drinks, before dragging Sam into the kitchen.

He had understood what Dean wanted when he pointed to the floor. He hadn’t been thrilled about it, but it hadn’t seemed like a big deal so he’d dropped. Easier than standing there, looking people in the face that weren’t talking to you. Dean had been right, though. He wasn’t invisible to them either. He could see it in their expressions, it wasn’t that they were looking down on him, more like they just didn’t have anything to say to him either. So he would just have to stay there, in their peripheral vision and try not to draw attention. Dean keeping a hand on him the whole time was surprise. Things had been different since he’d come back. Strained. The casual closeness from before had been lost somewhere in the fighting and leaving. So Dean’s touch had been a comfort he hadn’t expected. When he’d seen the girl curling, almost cat-like, around her mistress’s legs and realized that kind of casual intimacy was acceptable, well there was no reason not to take advantage and blend in at the same time. He’d kept his eyes on the crowd, watching the people that joined them, dodging glances anytime they shifted to him, and watching the room. All the while Dean’s hand played over his skin, enjoyable in ways Sam didn’t want to look too closely at. It took Dean stopping before Sam realized that he was acting cat-like himself; curling into Dean and giving him room to basically scratch behind Sam’s ears.

He was a little embarrassed and a little confused but when Dean held out his hand, Sam hadn’t refused his offer. Especially not with the group of people Dean had been speaking with watching them. He kept his head down as Dean led him into the kitchen and straight for one of the coolers. He didn’t let go of Sam’s hand until he passed a drink back to him. Sam took it, glancing at Dean over the rim of his cup as he took a sip. It was just ice water since they were working, but from the way Dean was staring into his own cup, he was wishing for something a little stronger. After a few moments of semi-awkward silence, Dean cleared his throat. “Ok. I think enough people have the idea. You take the back half and I’ll take the front. I’ll meet you outside the back fence in an hour and a half.” Sam nodded, “Yeah, alright.” Dean looked at him for a moment, with an expression that Sam couldn’t place before walking away, heading back the way they had come. There was a fluttery feeling in Sam’s chest again. He took a few deep, calming breaths before he passed through to the back room.

The girl on the bench was gone. Something Sam was somewhat grateful for. No matter how consensual he knew it was, she had been awfully small and that guy was not. A quick glance didn’t show them in the room and he had no idea where they might have gone. A tall, curvy blonde in the back corner caught his eye as he was looking around. She smiled at him as she looked him over. He acknowledged her with a nod before surveying the rest of the room. Most of the people in the room were still hovered near the show area, chatting amicably. After a little while of watching, Sam could see the equipment being cleared for another show. Quickly, he slipped out the door to the back yard. It was decently lit for the dead of night, string lights and tiki torches throughout. There were fewer people outside since the night was turning cool. He could see more equipment off to the left, unused at the moment, but there. The privacy bushes ran a line parallel to the house, sectioning off a square area that housed a hot tub. Squinting, he could just see the steam rising from it. Sam started to head out into the yard to get a better view when a small hand settled on his arm, stopping him.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” The blonde came around his side and smiled up at him.

Sam returned the smile. She was pretty, in a classic kind of way, wavy, long hair, bright blue eyes with long lashes, full pink lips and a nice tan. She only came up to his chest but there was something about her. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled wider, “Call me Daria.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean had been busy for the last hour. He’d made his way through almost everyone in the front room and the kitchen; chatting about the town, the weather, comparing techniques, bringing up the murders and the victims in the most round-about ways possible. A few of the names had been recognized, but by different people. He’d found one girl that had known Vivian, but she hadn’t recognized any of the other names. Another woman had recognized Lance’s name, but only as a friend of a friend. He’d found out that the invitations didn’t go to everybody when a party was thrown. So not even the people who came had a good idea of how many people were in the area. Apparently, Guy was the only one who did. This made Guy the man to talk to.

The entire time Dean was making his rounds he kept reaching out, wanting to thread his fingers through Sam’s hair, before he’d remember that Sam wasn’t safe at his feet. It was starting to piss him off and now, he wasn’t actually sure who he was angry at; himself for reaching or Sam for not being there. And _that_? Pissed him off even more. By the time he saw Guy heading out the back door, he was already getting antsy. He needed to concentrate on the case, that was why they were there, but he kept going back to Sam. He hadn’t seen Sam in a while. Even hunching on himself like he had been all night, the kid towered over most of the partygoers. Dean should have at least caught a glimpse of him, and he didn’t like that he hadn’t. He hated that Sam was wandering around in this crowd without him. Had hated it even when he’d suggested it, but he’d been so sure that Sam wouldn’t stay at his side the whole night being a good little sub. He wanted to kick himself because Sam had taken to it so much better than Dean ever would have guessed. He’d just given over to Dean as if it was the most natural thing in the world. That was why he’d sent Sam off anyway. Dean was having a hard time remembering that he wasn’t supposed to like it. He’d loved being able to reach out and run his hands over Sam, assure himself that Sam was _right there_ with him. In a rare moment of honesty, Dean had to admit that he wanted more. He wanted to pull Sam in and wrap around him, keeping him close and hiding him from the eyes that Dean had fucking _felt_ on Sam’s body all night. The one bright spot in the whole clusterfuck of a night was that no one else would get to touch Sam. For the night, that right belonged to Dean and everyone else would need his permission. Yeah right. Fat, fucking chance. When he finally caught up with Guy, that itchy, too-tight feeling was back in Dean’s chest.

Guy was standing on the side of the yard, watching an older-style sex swing being moved. Its seven-foot metal frame took more than one person to handle and small groups of people were laughing as they set it up.

“Hey, man.” Dean plastered a fake smile on his face as he got Guy’s attention, “This is fantastic! It’s like going to a club, but so much more comfortable.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Yeah. I gotta know how you pulled this off. I mean, how do you get all these people together?”

Guy chuckled at him. “I’ve been in this area a long time. I knew some people and threw a party. They knew some people that wanted to come. Now, I’ve got a couple hundred people that I’ve been introduced to in the area. I’ve got a few people that come to every party, but otherwise I pull names out of a hat to send invitations to. Around sixty or so people will show up, every time.”

Dean watched him as he spoke. Guy smiled from ear to ear, his eyes were shining, and even though he was standing tall, he was still relaxed. He looked happy and… proud of what he’d done. “That really is kind of amazing.” Dean meant what he said but there was a sinking feeling in his gut. He was sure that Guy wasn’t lying and he couldn’t think of any reason, even subconsciously, why Guy would endanger that. And if Guy wouldn’t risk his pet project, then he was probably not the wolf either. So Dean had lost his only lead. Damn.

“Hey, where’s your boy?”

Dean’s already fake smile strained at the edges. “Around. I told him to wander and watch, maybe learn a few things.”

A small frown started to form between Guy’s eyes, “Is he really that new?”

Dean forced a chuckle, but he couldn’t keep meeting Guy’s stare, “Yeah. Still learning my rules even.”

He saw his host go still, “Why would you bring him out yet, let alone turn him loose?”

Dean’s stomach did a sick roll and a bitter taste lingered in his throat. He’d dreaded that question because he didn’t have a good answer. “Because Sammy always did do better if I let him figure it out on his own instead hovering over his shoulder.” Dean shrugged, as if he was at ease with everything instead of fighting down the need to squirm under Guy’s gaze. He could almost see what Guy was thinking, and he hated it. If everything worked out, he’d never see Guy again after this, but it rubbed him raw that he’d made such bad impression. Like he’d ever be this callous, this shitty at taking care of Sam. He’d never just turn Sam loose, unclaimed, untrained, and unaware in what amounted to a private D&S club if he’d had a choice. If they’d come by choice he would have covered Sam first. Bit and licked all down that long throat and chest, leaving teeth prints and bruises behind. Marked Sam all over, showing all those people who just _kept_ looking, how off-limits Sam is. As it was Sam was wandering around, Dean didn’t even know where, without a mark on him because Dean hadn’t trusted himself. Because all day, he’d been noticing Sam in ways he shouldn’t. Because he’d really wanted to put his mark on Sam. God, he wanted to bite and suck a huge, dark bruise into the skin over those hipbones, where Sam’s well defined six-pack ended and that dangerously hot v-line began. There _needs_ to be something there, some sign of possession, right where the lines of Sam’s body draws everyone’s eyes eventually.

“Your boy may end up learning more than you bargained on. Maybe you should have been a little more specific.”

Dean followed Guy’s line of sight.

Sam was in the hot tub.

Sam was in the fucking hot tub and some giggling, peroxide blonde bitch was in there with him.

“She’s not exactly trustworthy.” Guy said casually.

“Why do you let her come, then?” The words only half sounded like an accusation. The other half was bitter anger. The need to rip her apart almost vibrated through him. Every nerve was firing, twitching, needing to remove her and claim Sam.

Guy was eyeing him as if he knew exactly what was running through Dean’s mind. “Because I keep hoping that she’ll find someone to keep. She’s not the only single here, you know. Normally, the couples that come already have an agreement about taking someone else on and most subs stick to that.”

Dean could hear the implication clear enough. _Your boy isn’t behaving. You aren’t keeping a good handle on him._ Dean clenched his jaw as his eyes darted back to the tub. Sam was flushed, a slight pink tinge spreading across his cheeks, either from the heat of the water or lust, Dean couldn’t tell. But it wasn’t the deep red of embarrassment that he’d been seeing all day. In fact, the little shit looked downright comfortable, smiling as the blonde put her arms around him. What the fuck did Sam think he was doing? The blonde had been dragging her lips across the top of Sam’s shoulder as she moved around him. Dean saw her whisper something then she slipped away, only her tiny hands clutching Sam’s chest were still visible as she disappeared behind him. Sam stiffened, lifting his head a fraction, and closed his eyes. Dean could practically hear the hissing breath Sam sucked in between his clenched teeth. Realization slammed into Dean like a blow to the chest, knocking all breath out of him and breaking something inside. The bitch had marked him. Sam had let that fucking skank _mark_ him. Guy was still rattling on, probably about the bitch in the tub and Dean’s shitty ability to control Sam. He could have been summoning a demon for all Dean cared. Dean couldn’t hear anything past the rushing white noise in his head. All he could see through his tunnel-red vision was the slack and openly needy look on Sam’s face. His chest felt crushed under the emotions ripping through him, _NeedWantOwnAngerLustRageMySamMINE_.

Dean found himself standing at the tub’s edge with no memory of crossing the lawn and a barely repressed growl rumbling at the back of his throat.

Sam looked up at him, eyes finally focusing, and a fresh blush flaring over his cheeks. “Dean...” he stopped, obviously not knowing what to say.

Dean knew exactly what to say, what was most important. “Get. Out.” Each word was bitten off, spit out through his clenched teeth.

“Dean, what… Dude, I can’t just-” Sam gestured towards the ground near Dean’s feet.

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer. He gripped the edge of the tub so hard his hands went white and the plastic ledge cracked as he leaned as close to Sam’s face as he could. “Now.”

It was so low that Sam could barely hear over the fizzing bubble of the water-jets. Dean was pissed. No, pissed didn’t cover it. Dean was murderous. Sam had never seen Dean so angry. A flare of fear uncurled in his stomach, warring with the hot need already pooled there. Whatever had happened was bad and now wasn’t the time to demure over modesty. Sighing, Sam stood. Water cascaded away from his body, leaving him bare to the chill air and his brother’s infuriated gaze. Ghostly tendrils of steam curled off his skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Sam watched as Dean’s eyes followed the rolling drops of water and prickling skin down his body to-

If it was possible, Dean receded even further into that terrifying stillness.

Sam would give anything not to be standing wet, totally naked and rock hard in front of his brother while his chest did that damn warm, fluttery thing again. Quickly as he could, he scrambled out of the tub and reached for his pants. His hand had closed around the fabric when Dean grabbed his upper arm and jerked him upright.

“What?” Sam turned his head and found Dean right in his face; eyes were almost black they were so dark. Sam’s shiver had nothing to do with the chilled, spring air.

“Drop them.”

His hand had opened before his mind could stop it. Dean had been using that voice all day but this was the first time it had sounded angry. The same confident authority shot through with rage.

“Walk.” Dean clamped down on the back of Sam’s neck and pushed forward, practically frog marching him across the grass.

They had left the semi-privacy of the bushes and were in the yard before Sam’s mind caught up with him and he realized that Dean was leading him around, still naked. He tried to turn around, tried to stop-

“Dean, wait!” but Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s neck and kept walking. His fingers were digging deep into Sam’s skin and he knew there was going to be a ring of bruises later.

“Shut up.”

Sam finally realized that Dean was that murderously pissed at him.

“What the hell?” His voice was rougher than he wanted.

Dean jerked him to a stop.

“I said shut. Up.” The words were scarily calm and right in his ear before Dean shoved him forward again.

Sam looked up and found them quickly approaching a swing that had been set up near the center of the yard. A man was half sitting, half standing in the leather harness with a woman on her knees in front of him, messily and noisily sucking him down. Without slowing, Dean marched them past the small knot of people watching the show and right to the couple.

“Move.”

The man looked up, angry at the interruption. He took in all of Sam, and Sam could feel Dean’s grip edge past painful, the blunt edge of nails digging into his skin as the guy’s eyes slid over him. When the guy saw Dean seething next to him, he pulled his woman off her knees and ushered her away without a word.

Dean unhooked the harness one handed and tossed it away from the frame before he shoved Sam forward. He let go of Sam’s neck only to grab each of his wrists and wrap his hands around the support bar on the outsides of the swing hooks. It wasn’t quite to the edges of the frame but wide enough to be a full reach, even for Sam. Dean had stepped forward when he positioned Sam’s hand and Sam could feel the length of his brother’s body against him; the scrape of Dean’s jeans along his legs and ass, the brush of Dean’s shirt buttons across his back.

Dean growled in his ear, “Don’t you fucking DARE let go until I tell you.” and stepped away completely. “Spread your legs.”

Sam shuffled his feet little more than hip width apart. Dean kicked the inside of his feet, knocking his legs open further, wider, until Sam was off balance and gripping the bar tightly to keep himself steady. He was still trying to catch up, his mind a jumble of sensations running rational thought into the ground. Until he heard the metallic clink of a belt buckle and the slow slide of a belt clearing belt loops. That sound brought all of his thoughts to a sudden, grinding halt.

“So what did you think? That you could just slut around while we were here and I wouldn’t notice? That you could just strip down for some random skank and I wouldn’t care?” Sam felt the warmth of Dean’s fingers drag lightly down the back of his shoulder, gliding over the spot where he knew Daria had bitten him. The touch sent shivers across his back.

“You let her mark you. Like she had the right to even _touch_ you.” Dean’s hand dropped away from him leaving him a little colder.

He felt the small breeze that was his only warning before pain bloomed across his skin. He tensed and jerked forward, as far away as his awkward position would allow, a wordless shout exploding out of him. The riptide of pain rolled along his shoulder and down across his spine. Jesus Christ, that hur-

CRACK!

The second blow fell low across his back, striping from one edge of his ribs to the other. He bucked forward again, toes curling into the ground, hands gripping the iron frame even tighter. Shit, it was too quick he didn’t get time to get over the first one. He took a deep breath-

CRACK!

-and choked on the air. Another blow, left shoulder this time, the tail end crossing over the first blow. Fuck it hurt.

“Goddamnit!”

THWAP!

“Shit, that hurts!”

WHAP! CRACK!

“Sonovabitch, stop!”

SMACK!

“FUCK YOU!”

CRACKCRACKTHWAP!

Sam twisted and bucked, jerking every way his reach would allow as Dean struck him. Over and over, again and again. He never knew where the next blow would fall and wasn’t getting the time to react if he had. Every swing was fast and punishing and brutal; scoring randomly across his back, his shoulders, striking the backs of both thighs, bruising deeply across his ass. The slight dampness of his skin spread the sting further and made the sound carry, crisp in the otherwise silent air. It wasn’t until the belt actually wrapped around the curve of his thigh that he realized Dean was using the full length of leather like a fucking bullwhip. And Sam felt every inch of every blow. He had no idea how long it went on. He screamed himself almost hoarse; cussing out his brother until even that devolved to whimpering and yelling in pain.

Dean had lost count after twenty. He had no idea how many times his belt had scored Sam’s skin. He lost himself into the play of his Sam’s body. The way he took the lashes, just like Dean had known he would. Jesus, Sam was beautiful. Dean had put his full force behind every swing and hadn’t eased up once; using his whole arm and shoulder, turning into the throw, and jerking his wrist back at that very last moment to make the sting carry. His wrist and forearm ached from the awkward positions he had to use to make the belt work the way he needed. He knew he wasn’t going to be worth a shit the next day, but it still wasn’t enough. He needed something harder, something stouter than his belt. He glanced around and realized that there were already instruments spread out on the nearby picnic table. He wasn’t sure if they had already been there or if someone had laid them out while he was punishing Sam. He didn’t really care either. There was a wooden paddle, long enough for him to get a good swing, but only about four inches wide. He carefully aimed his last swing, coming up and striking the inside of Sam’s left thigh getting a particularly loud scream. Then he dropped the belt to the ground and grabbed the paddle instead. Dean pulled Sam’s hips backward, angling his ass out just a little and pressed the cool wood against Sam’s reddened skin. “What did you do wrong?”

The steady pressure on his hurting skin felt good. Cool, smooth, and almost like love. Eventually, Sam became aware that Dean was waiting for something.

“I said, what did you do wrong, Sam?”

Sam forced the words out of his throat, past the sobs threatening to come. “I let her touch me.”

“Good boy.”

It was said softly, for him only and he heard it. He could hear the reverence in Dean’s voice. That broke something in Sam’s chest. Then the cool pressure disappeared and the first blow landed rough on his right ass cheek.

“Oh, god.” It was hard, so hard. So much harder than the belt, so much harder than anything and it _hurt_. Pain sinking down into him so much further and Dean still wasn’t letting up, spanking him again, left side, right side, and again where his thighs met his ass. And he could still feel the welts rising on his shoulders and his back was inflamed. All his muscles already ached from the tension and the shaking that he just couldn’t seem to stop. Dean just wouldn’t give him a chance to handle it. Sam screamed again, a blow landing across both cheeks and catching other bruises besides. It was too much, all too much, he couldn’t take anymore, and Dean still wasn’t stopping. He’d set Dean off and now Dean was punishing him for it, and why shouldn’t he? Sam fought him every step of the way all the time. Always fighting with Dean and taking it out on him and running off and leaving him and Dean just took it. He kept giving in to Sam, giving to Sam, and taking care of him. Sam couldn’t even take care of himself. He was so angry, always so angry and he didn’t even know why anymore. He couldn’t control himself, couldn’t control anything and he needed, he needed…

He could hear someone apologizing over and over and it wasn’t until he felt the tears running freely down his face that he realized it was him. He just kept repeating himself. Because Dean had to know. Dean had to understand, he couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t stop it, but Dean could. Dean could control him. Dean would take care of him. Save him.

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m sorry. Dean, I’m so sorry.”

The blows kept falling, but Sam had long since quit expecting them to stop. His ass was agony, burning and hurting worse than any bruise or welt on his back, hurting so bad it started to be good. That soul-searing pain keeping the rage at bay and curling through his body, better than any drug, better than anything. And he needed it, God he needed it, and Dean would take care of him. Was taking care of him, he could just let go… let the pain crowd out everything else as his consciousness splintered and a gray fog rolled over him, pulling him down and he let it, because it was so good and he was safe and loved…

Sam’s sobs tapered off, his cries finally falling silent. Dean lightened the blows, slowing his swings while Sam went deeper into himself. Finally, Dean was able to stop. His muscles burned from use and his arm was twitching forward, still trying to swing. He rolled his shoulder and threw the paddle in the general direction of the table. There was a soft _thump_ when it fell short in the grass, then silence. The only sound was Dean’s harsh breathing and Sam’s hitching breath. With a jerk, Dean remembered the crowd, only to find they were still standing there, staring in silent appreciation. Dean had covered Sam’s skin from upper shoulders to mid-thigh. Every inch had been struck at least once. Dean did a clinical survey of the miles of canvas in front of him. Some deep bruising, some welts, but no broken skin, no blood, nothing that might need medical attention. He tried to take it in as a whole, but there was so much of it. He kept looking at one bruise or another, eyes darting from spot to spot. Shivering, he took those couple of steps closer and ghosted his hands over Sam’s skin; reverently lighting on every mark, tracing the lines of muscle in his back.

Dean was back in control of himself, for the most part. The jealousy, the need to take, claim, and own had settled. It wasn’t entirely gone, but it had lessoned from the incensing rage that had snapped him earlier, to a familiar burn. More familiar than he was comfortable with, really. He didn’t know exactly what the hell he was going to do, but he’d figure it out. If there was one thing Dean Winchester had learned, it was how to just roll with whatever happened. Dean walked around Sam’s body, hand trailing the younger man’s waist, keeping contact as he took everything in. The way Sam shivered at the touches, the low moan creeping out of Sam’s throat, the flush across his skin. How Sam sighed and leaned into Dean’s touch when he traced those beautiful tears and cupped Sam’s cheek.

“What are you using as recovery rooms?”

His question went unanswered for a moment, just hung in the silence around him. Finally, someone realized what he’d said. “Rooms are at the end of the house.”

Guy stepped forward into Dean’s peripheral vision, “I’ll show you where.”

Dean nodded distractedly, still smoothing his hands through Sam’s hair and enjoying the soft glide of it between his fingers. Guy walked towards them, arms out to take Sam.

“NO!” Dean’s shout stopped Guy in his tracks. “No one touches him but me.” Dean narrowed his eyes at the blonde from the tub, who was standing at the edge of the yard, watching. She turned and slipped away.

Guy held his hands up in a placating gesture, “Dean, you can’t carry him yourself. I was just going to help you.”

Dean shook his head, “No. He doesn’t need carried, he’ll walk.”

Guy looked surprised, not that Dean blamed him. Sam looked practically unconscious, like it would be all he could do to fall, let alone walk. But Dean knew better, he’d seen what Sam could do, how much he could take and still get the job done. Sam wasn’t used up yet, he still had some strength left, and Dean was going to use it. All of it, if he could. He settled his hands on either side of Sam’s waist, “You can let go now. Stand up for me, Sammy.” Dean could see Guy start over Sam’s shoulder. He watched Guy’s eyes jump to the top of the frame. He’d forgotten, they all had, that the only thing keeping Sam on that frame was Sam.


	7. Chapter 7

He could feel everything, every bruise and welt sinking into his mind with vivid detail. He could feel his weight pulling his shoulders, stretching them uncomfortably to their limit. All of it combined in his mind and rolled over his consciousness with that sharp edge that meant years from now, he’d still be able to recall every ache, every pain with perfect clarity. And it didn’t penetrate the kind of hazy lethargy that had settled over him; instead, it combined with it, holding him deeper. He couldn’t dispel the overwhelming feelings of _safety_ , _home_ , and _love_ that had settled deep into his bones, relaxing almost every muscle. He realized, with a strange kind of clarity, that he had never been as relaxed as he was in that moment. He actually felt free, clean. Which, he thought, should have been making him panic. This was so far from the ‘normal’ he had once thought he needed that it wasn’t even on the same planet. The fear and disgust that he expected just wouldn’t come, though. It was almost like being drugged, this bone-deep contentment. His hands absolutely would not let go of the bar above him, his legs would not straighten and support his weight. He was boneless and nerveless, like a marionette with its strings cut, just waiting for someone to come along. So at peace that he hadn’t opened his eyes, he just felt Dean’s hands on him, soothing and loving and capable. He heard them speaking. Dean was a talking to somebody else and that upset his calm a little. But then Dean was talking to him. He loved the sound of his name on Dean’s lips, soft and caring and precious. The haze receded, just enough for him to realize that Dean needed something from him. Sam finally opened his eyes and focused on Dean, just for a moment before he dropped his gaze down to the ground. The order Dean was giving him forced its way past the contentment and Sam slowly got his feet back under him. Relaxing his arms and shoulders hurt almost as much as the weight had. His hands were worse; bloodless and cramped from holding tightly for so long. Stiffly, they uncurled from the bar, the rush of blood overwhelming his nerves and making them burn then go numb. He leaned into Dean’s hold, just a little as his balance shifted, before straightening.

Sam’s head hung and his shoulders hunched forward. He was as curled in on himself as he could be while standing, but he _was_ standing on his own. Dean smiled and turned back to Guy, “Show us to a room.”

Keeping a guiding hand on the small of Sam’s back, Dean followed the man through the yard to a door at the far end of the house. The door opened to a plain white hallway with two doors along the left and a third door on the right. Their guide pulled a key ring from his pocket and opened the right-side door. “Here. That’s the only key to this door, so you will have absolute privacy. Just make sure I get the key back when you leave.”

Dean pocketed the key with a nod. The room was medium sized with soft, light tan walls and pale cream-colored carpet. The recessed lighting was dim and soothing and unlit red candles were spread throughout the room. A queen-sized bed was against the far wall, thickly covered with throw pillows and blankets in varying shades of brown, black, and red. Black, wooden end tables flanked the bed and a matching dresser that ran along the left wall. The top of the dresser was covered with thick towels and wash cloths, all a stark white. A black mini-fridge the same height as the dresser sat at the end, humming quietly. Directly in front of them a small two-seater sofa sat facing the bed, its dark red fabric dividing the room almost in half.

“There are supplies in the dresser drawers and if you need something, I have more in the house itself. Of course you’re welcome to use this room for as long as you need.”

Dean nodded again and led Sam to the bed. He started grabbing throw pillows and throwing them to the floor. “Thanks. That should be all I need.” He never even looked up from his growing mountain of cotton and lace, dismissal clear in his tone.

Guy was halfway out the door before it dawned on him that he could ignore Dean. It was his house after all. Still, he’d been hosting these parties for years and for all that Dean had made such a bad first impression, Guy couldn’t remember ever seeing someone so focused on their sub. Even having topped some of the best subs in the area, he had to feel a little envious of the man Dean was taking care of. He could only imagine how it felt to be the center of so much love and attention. So he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dean turned the covers back and wordlessly urged Sam down onto the cool, cream-colored sheets as the door snicked closed. Just like that, they were alone. A thick silence enveloped them broken only by their breathing.  

Unconsciously, the hunter in Dean registered that the room must be partly soundproofed, that Guy had locked the door from the inside before he closed it, that there were no windows or other points of entry, and no obvious weapons. The hunter automatically took in the details of the room and catalogued their options. Dean stood there, heart pounding as he watched Sam crawl slowly, painfully into the bed.

Sam stretched out on his stomach, arms folding up under his head because the soreness in his shoulders would be more bearable than putting pressure on his back. The mattress was soft and sunk under his weight, seeming to mold to his body and hold him. Tearing his eyes away, Dean drifted to the dresser to see what supplies were available. The towels were just as soft and thick as they looked, each drawer held an array of lotions and soothing oils. The mini-fridge had been stocked with bottles of water and juices and the freezer even had an ice tray full of ice. He picked a simple massage oil and grabbed a bottle of water and washcloth. Dean turned back to his brother and faltered for a moment because he really saw what was in front of him; Sam, naked in bed, skin reddened and bruised with Dean’s marks, totally trusting Dean to take care of him however Dean wanted. Every sweep of muscle splayed and relaxed, Sam’s cheek was pillowed on his arms, face calm and eyes closed. His legs stretched out and disappeared into the nest of blankets at the foot of the bed.

“Beautiful.” Dean whispered the word as he made his way back to his brother’s side. “Legs apart, Sam.” He said it gently, without heat and even still Sam’s legs immediately spread further, brushing the outside of Dean’s thigh. He dampened the washcloth and tenderly wiped the cooled fabric over Sam’s back, easing the blood heated flesh with each swipe. Sam’s breath hitched for a moment then left him in a soft sigh.

“You did good, Sammy, so good. All that power and strength and you still let me- God, Sam, you _let_ me- and you took it all. You look so good wearing my marks. Jesus. Every top here would about give their left hand just to put a single mark on you.”

A low broken sound crept out of Sam’s chest as he shook his head. Fresh tears silently streaked down his cheeks. God, even the _idea_ of someone else, someone not Dean marking him… No. Dean was the only person he trusted enough, loved enough to let do this. Dean would take care of him, love him, and forgive him no matter what. And he needed that. He needed punished, he needed forgiven. That anger was finally quiet, buried underneath the pain and the love and _Dean_. For the first time since Dean told him the truth about Dad, he felt clean, as if maybe Dean could save him after all. But for someone else to touch him? _No, no, no, no, no._ He didn’t want that.

Dean caught the shine of fresh tears falling down Sam’s face as he shook his head repeatedly, a frightened whine escaping him. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re ok. You’re alright. I’ve got you, man. I’m gonna take care of you. No one else, just me.”

Continuing down over the swell of Sam’s ass and the long lines of his thighs, Dean cleaned every welt and bruise. He kept a constant stream of encouragement as he patted Sam dry and pooled oil in his hands. Murmuring, “Good boy. So proud of you, you did so good. I’ve got you now.” Mindful of the sores on Sam’s skin, Dean dug his fingers into Sam’s shoulders. Gently as he could, he massaged the over-used muscles he knew had to have been pulled when Sam had dangled from the swing-frame. A small whimper reached his ears when he hit a particularly bad knot under the edge of Sam’s shoulder blade. Shushing Sam, Dean rolled the muscles under his fingertips, pushing deeply and urging them to release. Sam had done a number on himself by following Dean’s order. Dean let that knowledge wash over him as he worked down Sam’s body, kneading deep into muscles and drifting, barely there over dark discolorations, pausing only to put more oil on his hands. Sam started shifting around, twitching, when Dean reached his lower back. Dean kept his touches light and slid the oil along Sam’s skin, thumbs pressing briefly into the dip of his lower back then moving on. Dean tried not to notice that he had Sam’s ass in both hands, tried not to feel the way the skin there was so much softer and even still inflamed , but he was having a really hard time with it since Sam just kept squirming. He forced his hands lower, smooth and gentle, to the tops of Sam’s thighs. Sam kept shifting though, and suddenly Dean could see. He wasn’t squirming so much as he was _thrusting_ , rolling his hips in short circles, rubbing himself against the bed.

Dean grabbed Sam’s hips, forcing him to still, “Stop.”  

Sam let out a long, keening sound that ended in a muffled sob. “Please.” His voice was rough and cracked from overuse and Dean could hear the desperation.

Every ounce of blood in Dean’s body rushed south, leaving him lightheaded and his heart pounding triple time in his chest. Wordlessly he pulled on Sam’s hips, urging him to roll over. Sam let out a slight hiss of pain when he settled his weight on his back, but he went. He sprawled, legs spread, arms out to his sides, chest heaving and his hips still kept twitching upward, thrusting into nothing, and, Jesus, he was hard. Dean crawled between Sam’s knees, forcing them further apart and settled his hands into the jut of Sam’s hipbones. He pushed down, forcing Sam back against the bed and another pleading sound out of Sam’s throat. His thumbs trailed outwards, brushing through thick dark curls and making Sam’s dick twitch hard, a spurt of precome weeping down the head. Dean’s eyes flicked up in time to see Sam turn his face away.

“Look at me.” When Sam didn’t move Dean gripped his hips harder, fingers burying in Sam’s flesh, and growled out, “Now, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes snapped open and locked onto Dean’s face. His eyes were red-rimmed from tears and heavy lidded. They were so lust-blown that they were mostly black, only flecks of green visible around the edges. The eyeliner had long since smeared between the sweat and tears, making a thick dark ring under his eyes and strands of black-brown were trailing down his heavily stubbled cheeks. There was desperation in his face that Dean had never seen before.

“You do nothing without my permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Sam whispered quietly.

Dean’s stomach lurched, “Don’t call me that.” Sam nodded, blinking slowly.

For a moment, Dean freaked out a little. The harsh reality of what was happening hit him. Sam was his brother, the only person he had left in the world, and when Dad had said ‘watch out for Sammy’ this was definitely NOT what he meant.

But-

But Sam _was_ all he had, and he loved his brother completely. And, ok, maybe he’d never thought about it quite this way before but he knew this was it for him. His brother was the only steady relationship Dean was ever going to have. He’d spend the rest of his life taking care of Sam and Sam-

Sam was still flushed and breathing heavily. His hips were still rolling, mindlessly pushing up against Dean’s grip trying to rut against something, anything. His dick was long and dark red and curved back against his stomach he was so hard. There was a sticky clear sheen on his abs that glistened as his muscles shifted and moved under his skin. His lips were so swollen and red, and even as Dean watched, Sam sucked his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it practically raw to stop the sound that Dean could _almost_ hear. Sam was there and his and, God, Dean _wanted_. So much and so deeply that his skin was itchy and too tight, and the need to have was a physical ache. Sam was his, Goddamnit, and he needed to touch and taste and lick and what if this was his only chance?

Dean wasn’t sure that he’d actually made a choice, if there had ever been a choice, but he leaned forward and crashed down on top of his brother, gripping Sam’s shoulders to stop the jolt of surprise before pressing his mouth to Sam’s. Sam’s lips were blood swollen against his, warm and wet and just a little chapped. He pulled Sam’s lower lip between his teeth and licked across it, feeling the rips in Sam’s skin scratch across his tongue. Sam gasped and Dean licked into him, forcing past his lips. Sam did groan then and Dean was distantly aware of Sam’s body moving against his as he explored every inch of Sam’s mouth. Thrusting and curling along Sam’s tongue, until the briny flavor of tears was gone and all Dean could taste was _SamSammyMineMySammyMine._

Two bands of heat clamped to the skin of Dean’s waist. He jumped, gasping for air, and opened his eyes to Sam looking just as dazed beneath him. The brands were Sam’s hands, tight on his sides as he undulated underneath Dean. Dean growled and bit the edge of Sam’s jaw before pushing himself off. Sam did whine then, loud and unabashedly, wordlessly pleading as Dean slipped away.

Dean ran a soothing hand down Sam’s side quieting the cry as he scooted down the bed, biting his way down Sam’s chest; playful little nips, enough of an edge for Sam to feel them but not enough to leave a mark, and relishing in the mewling gasps Sam made each time. He pressed a gentle kiss just above Sam’s navel, licking around it then dipping his tongue inside, just for a moment, before he bit at the soft skin. Sam sobbed when Dean moved to the side, passing his dick and went down further to his hipbones. Dean’s mouth literally watered because Sam was _right there_ , moaning for Dean to touch him. Instead, Dean trailed small kisses down the curve of Sam’s hip. His mark. Sam was gonna wear his mark the way Dean wanted it. He bit down hard. Sam gave a short yell that choked off in a gasp when his sudden movement hurt the abrasions on his back. Growling in warning, Dean sucked relentlessly on the flesh between his teeth, pulling blood to the surface, and making damn sure that there would be bruise, huge and dark, that would last for days. By the time he finally let go with a wet pop, Sam was openly crying again, tears making his face glow in the low lighting. Dean laved over the wound, soothing it with his tongue before moving further down, following the line of Sam’s hips to the crease of his thigh.

The scent of Sam was stronger, fuller than it had been as Dean spread Sam’s thighs even further apart. Dean breathed in deep, letting the smell fill his head as he ran his tongue over the weight of Sam’s balls. Already they were tight, pulled up close to his body and Dean couldn’t help but roll them in his hand and give them a short tug, eliciting a pained grunt. Sam’s hands fisted in the sheets and he was writhing as much as he could, legs roving restlessly, head thrown back, his lips moving in something Dean couldn’t make out. Finally, Dean dragged his lips up Sam’s shaft, darting his tongue out in soft, short licks as he went, tasting the smooth and impossibly hot skin, earthy and bitter with precome. Dean had barely closed his mouth around the head of Sam’s dick, running the tip of his tongue along the slit, when Sam gave a particularly loud cry and his body locked up. Hot and wet shot against the roof of his mouth and splashed across his tongue, filling him with the tastes of salt and sea and musk and Sam. Dean wrapped his hand around Sam using long, wringing pulls to coax every drop that he swallowed greedily until Sam was completely spent. When Sam’s harsh breathing slowed to a heavy pant, Dean softly released him.

Without Sam to focus on, Dean’s need made itself known. His hips were thrusting forward, trying to get pressure. Dean’s cock ached, trapped behind his jeans, and no amount of rubbing against the mattress would help. He scrambled to his knees and fumbled his pants open. Even pulling himself out sent shocks through him. Gripping his cock tightly he threw his head back and bowed his body. It felt so good that it _hurt_ to finally have pressure on his dick. His hand was still mildly sticky from the oil and the rough friction was more than enough. A few quick, rough pulls and everything disappeared. His orgasm exploded through him, obliterating everything else.

He came to slumped back, sitting on his feet, cock still in hand. There were spurts of come on the outside of his boxers, but nothing he couldn’t wipe away. Dazedly, Dean looked up. His spent dick twitched a little.

Sam had sprawled out again, boneless and barely conscious. Strings of Dean’s come covered Sam’s body; puddles cooling on his chest, pearl like beads in the dark hair of his groin, and dripping slowly off his balls. Dean watched him blink slowly, heavy eyes barely wanting to open. Content, even with Dean’s sperm drying on his skin. Dean shuffled off the end of the bed, searching the floor. As soon as he stepped away, Sam moaned, a heartbroken sound, and reached out towards him.

“Not leaving, dude. I just need a rag to clean us up with.” Dean almost didn’t recognize his own voice, deep and gravel rough, but Sam still relaxed when he spoke. Quickly, Dean found the bottle of water and rag from earlier and gabbed them both. With the first drag across his skin, Sam weakly tried to grab the cloth. Dean captured his brother’s hands and pressed them back against the bed. “No. I’m taking care of you.” Gently, he cleaned his seed off them both, all the while petting Sam with his free hand, down his sides, through his hair, across his cheekbones. When he finished he threw the cloth in the general direction of the dresser and lay down next to his brother. He could give Sam a few hours; let him sleep it off a little. He lifted his arm in invitation.

“C’mere, Sammy. Sleep now.”

Sam curled forward wrapping his arm and leg around Dean and pressing his face close into Dean’s neck, breathing deeply. Dean looped his arm lightly around his brother, feeling what little tension was left in Sam relax.

It wasn’t long at all before Sam was asleep. His breath steady puffs of air blasting hot on Dean’s throat and cooling as it rolled over his skin. Dean made sure to wait long enough that Sam wasn’t going to wake before easing carefully out of his brother’s octopus impression. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to think he was leaving him, or to wake up while he was gone.

He still had a case to solve and no time to solve it. At least he knew where to start. Because no matter how else Sam may have fucked up, he would still have been working. He wasn’t sure how the fuck that ended with Sam letting that bitch touch him, but there had to be a reason for talking to her in the first place. Dean double-checked that the room key was still in his pocket and slipped quietly out of the room, carefully closing and locking the door behind him. First thing was first. He needed to find that blonde.


	8. Chapter 8

Daria was slightly annoyed. That Sam kid had had so much potential. And that _build_. Jesus, what she could do to a body like that. She’d damn near had him too, until that guy he’d come with had interfered. Dean? Yeah, that was it. Damn Dean had caught her. Guy had also had a few things to say to her afterward. Ok, sure, it might have been rude of her to try, knowing he’d come with someone. But if Dean wasn’t going to keep a better eye on his toys than that, _especially_ since he hadn’t really claimed the kid… Well, in her mind, he deserved to lose the kid. Unfortunately, he and everyone else thought different.

Bad form, Daria.

Yeah, whatever, Guy.

So here she was, bored and alone because no one wanted to play. She wasn’t blacklisted, not quite that ostracized, but everyone kept _looking_ at her. The only reason she hadn’t given up and gone home was because she couldn’t stand the idea of slinking off with her tail between her legs. On the other hand, it wasn’t slinking if you were dying of boredom, was it?

She was seriously considering it when a tight grip latched around her hair and pulled her over the back of the couch. She was too surprised to stop her girly yelp. She blushed hard because, fuck, it hadn’t hurt that badly. She found herself barely getting her feet under her with her head twisted cruelly up, looking into some very deep, very pissed, green eyes.

“We need to talk.”

And, oh shit, her knees tried to give out completely at that tone. Instead, she smiled sweetly at him. “Fuck. Off.”

“Not with you.”

“Cute. However, I have nothing to say to you. You should keep a better eye on your toys if you don’t want someone else playing with them.”

“He’s not a toy and you certainly won’t be playing with him again.”

“They’re all toys.”

“And you’re a shit top. But that’s not what we’re gonna talk about.”

Daria flushed hotly, anger pulsing through her small frame. Dean let go of her hair and grabbed her upper arm instead. He jerked hard, keeping her off balance and started dragging her along, away from the too knowing gazes of the other partygoers. It took a moment for her to realize he was dragging her away from the crowd, to somewhere more private. By the time she got her balance back enough to jerk out of his grip they were in the hallway off the kitchen.

“Keep your hands off me. How fucking dare-“

Dean grabbed her arm again and swung her around, slamming her hard into the wall and immediately stepping into her. He pressed his entire body to hers, pinning her flush against the white drywall. Using her hair as a handle, he jerked her head back, forcing her to face him.

“Listen to me you spoiled little bitch. Your god-awful training aside, you and me are gonna have a talk about what’s been going on here lately. I’m going to ask you questions and you WILL answer. Every. Damn. One. Do you hear me?”

Daria felt a thrill of fear skitter down her spine, but it didn’t begin to compare with the arousal spreading like quick-fire through her. This man promised a lot of violence, a lot of pain, if she was brave enough to take it. Jutting her chin forward, she sneered. “You aren’t man enough to make me.”

She shivered when his eyes went dark, hatred turning them the color of a midnight sea. He didn’t smile; he bared his teeth and gave a bark laughter that chilled her to the bone.

“Watch me.”


	9. Chapter 9

Two hours later Dean crept back into the recovery room, closing the door quietly behind him.  He dropped his head back against the door as it clicked shut just listening to Sam’s snuffling snores and the jackhammering of his own heart.  Daria was in a room across the hall, Guy patiently caring for her.  Dean had had to come up with some of the most debasing positions he’d ever put a sub in, but in the end she’d finally agreed to talk.  She’d told him everything he wanted to know and wept to do it. 

Each of the victim’s had been subs and they had all been to these parties at some point in the last year.  She’d topped some of them, coveted the others, but hadn’t been friends with any of them.  Jealous bitch that she was she’d even noticed who most of them had been playing with.  Vivian was the only one who’d had a partner, everyone else had been single and looking for one-night stands.  So now, he had a short list of people to question. 

Once she’d answered his questions, Dean kept his end of the deal; using pain and denial he’d sent her under then went looking for Guy to find someone to care for her.  Guy hadn’t been pleased when Dean had told him that there was someone needing after care that Dean couldn’t provide.  He’d been even less happy when he’d seen who it was.  Guy’s silent reproach reminded Dean of the woman he’d first learned from and he’d squirmed and defended himself before he realized what he was doing.

“I had a point to make.”

“And that was?” 

“That she isn’t as dominant as she thought.”

That disappointed glare that was so much worse than being bitched at. 

Dean sighed, “That she wouldn’t have been able to keep him.”

Guy’s eyes had softened a little at that.  He’d patted Dean’s shoulder and gave him a small push, “Go take care of your boy.  I’ll take care of Daria myself.  Besides, I think once she wakes up, she and I need to have a chat.  Maybe revisit the rules of etiquette a little.  Probably with my belt.”

Dean had smiled ruefully and walked away.

Finally opening his eyes, Dean looked up at the bed.  Sam had rolled onto his stomach and spread out, legs and arms akimbo.  Miles of tan skin contrasted spectacularly with the purples, blues, and vivid reds of the bruises and welts that covered him from shoulder to thigh.  Framed perfectly by rumpled, cream-colored sheets, he looked like nothing less than an invitation to sin.  The rush of putting that bitch in her place had left buzzing warmth in Dean’s body that only intensified when he saw Sam.  Dean wanted more than anything to crawl over Sam’s body, licking his way up, to feel the fever-flush from the dark bruise just left of Sam’s spine against his lips.  To taste the salt-copper tang of the welt that curved along Sam’s thigh, where Dean had stopped just short of drawing blood.  He wanted to wake him slowly, fucking him open one finger at a time, forcing every sound he could out of Sam, then bury himself in the tight heat of his brother’s body while Sam’s skin was still tender and hot.  Fuck, he was half-hard already, just thinking about it. 

He should definitely get Sam dressed.  He looked down at the cloth still hanging in his hand.  He’d swung through the yard before coming back to retrieve his belt and Sam’s pants.  The material was soft, a lot softer than he had thought it would be.  He didn’t remember what it was, but it slid through his finger like nothing else he could remember.  He could almost imagine how it would feel, gliding against his skin. Yeah, getting Sam dressed. That was what he needed to do. 

Still he hesitated, watching his brother sleep. The time he’d taken to put that skank in her place had also given him a chance to think, to roll the evening over in his mind. Ok, he could admit that he’d over-reacted a little. Or maybe a lot. But Sam had just been falling into the Sub role so well all day that maybe a wire or two had gotten crossed in Dean’s head. Sam was his partner, his brother, his best friend, and above all else, Sam was his. Always had been. It was his job to take care of Sam, teach him, and keep him safe. Dad may have taught Sam how to fight, but Dean taught him how to win. Sam was Dean’s. End of story. Seeing that bitch trying to claim what Dean had spent 22 years giving everything to… But now that the anger wasn’t rushing through him, he could remember. Sam had said no. A lot. Sam had fought him and cursed him, and screamed ‘no’ at the top of his lungs, and Dean hadn’t listened. Doubt and fear knotted his lower stomach.

Thing was, he knew Sam.  He’d spent his whole life knowing Sam.  He knew that Sam’s first real word had been ‘no’, he’d yelled it at their dad over something stupid and that he’d never really stopped.  Dean knew that Sam had been missing his right front tooth when he’d tied his shoes by himself for the first time because he’d looked up at Dean and grinned, chubby cheeks dimpling, he was so proud.  Back in the summer of ’93 since the Midwest was mostly underwater they’d fled to the West, working small jobs and waiting for the waters to go down.  It was in some dusty, desert town that Sam had been allowed to look at the research for the very first time.  He found the pattern, told dad where to go, and the Intulo went down, nice and easy.  Afterwards, when all three Winchesters had trouped to the library to return everything, a very formidable librarian had impressively lost her shit at them for disrespecting her books.  Even Dad had been cowed, and Sam?  Sam had never written in a margin, or dog-eared another page again.  Dean knew how Sam walked, the cadence of his voice, how he cut his food; hell, he could tell from twenty paces if Sam was in pain, unconscious, or just feigning sleep by the way the kid _breathed_.  He knew almost everything about Sam.  It was his job.

He had no fucking clue what Sam was going to do when he woke up and that terrified him. 

He’d lost control of himself and did something that could never be taken back.  He’d been so angry he’d just taken and hadn’t let Sam say no.  Hell, he hadn’t given Sam a choice at all and he knew how wrong that was.  He knew how wrong the entire situation was.  What he didn’t know was if Sam had really wanted any of it, or had just been so high on his first trip to sub-space he hadn’t known what he was doing.  And if that was true, he didn’t know if Sam could forgive him.

All he knew was that Sam would be sore and lethargic for a few hours, even with a three-hour nap to get him home on.  That suited Dean just fine because he was exhausted and not ready to face this just yet.  They were done for the night and he knew it.  Now he just had to get Sam up and get them home.

He was running out of reasons to stall. Steeling himself, he went to the end of the bed and laid his hand on Sam’s ankle.  “Hey.  Come on, man.  Get up so we can blow this joint.” 

Sam’s head jerked before he turned, blinking owlishly at him.  “Dean?”

Dean squeezed Sam’s ankle and tossed the pants at him before turning and walking away.  “Get to moving, Sleeping Beauty.  Get dressed so we can get the hell outta here.”  Dean walked to the dresser, keeping his back to Sam.  That did absolutely no good because the mirror reflected the bed perfectly.  Dean couldn’t help but watch the reflection as Sam, still half-unconscious, rolled over and sat up.  He heard Sam hiss when he felt the pressure on his bruises, and he watched as Sam’s face slid from pain to confusion to shock before sliding back to confusion.  Sam stared at the pants lying across his legs then questioningly up at Dean in the mirror.  Dean had to force himself to meet his brother’s eyes and not duck away. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah, uh.  I, um.  I couldn’t find your underwear, just the pants.  Sorry, dude.”

Sam’s gaze dropped and he pulled the cloths closer, like he was trying to hide behind them as he mumbled, “AtsczIddn’thvny.”

The warmth that Dean had been successfully ignoring surged through him because there was no way Sam had said what Dean had thought he’d said.  “What?” he croaked out.

Sam cleared his throat, “That’s because I didn’t have any.  Wear any. My boxers were bulky under the pants so I couldn’t wear them.”

Dean had a flash of how the fabric had felt slipping between his fingers, imagined how it would feel to wear them, imagined how Sam must have felt wearing them, how it would feel to have them slip-sliding over those bruises-  Dean slammed the lid on that thought process.

“Fuck.”  He breathed the word out and closed his eyes, willing the thoughts, and his new erection, away.

“Dean.”

“Just get dressed, Sam.”  After a moment’s pause, Sam sighed and started crawling out of the bed. Dean kept his eyes closed and dropped his head, trying not to listen to the occasional hitch of Sam’s breath as he slowly pulled the pants on.  When the rustle of cloth stopped and all he could hear was Sam’s breathing, Dean finally turned around to face his brother.

Sam’s hair was a mess, tangled and dingy with sweat and there were still pale tracks running down his cheeks, disappearing into the scruff on his jaw.  There was a slump to his posture that had nothing to do with submission, or even pain.  He just looked defeated.  Hurt. Worse, he looked betrayed. And damned if he wasn’t looking at Dean like that. 

Dean scrubbed his hand over his face as the implications slammed into him.  Fuck.  Well that answered that question.  Dean had more than fucked up and Sam was hurting for it.

“We need to talk about this.”  Sam murmured softly.

Dean’s heart clenched and froze before rushing to catch up and he could feel tears forming behind his eyes.  “Can we just- Let’s finish this first?” Dean looked at Sam imploringly, “I get it, Sam. I do.  I fucked up big and there’s no fixing that but can we just finish this case first?  Then we’ll have whatever heart to heart, knockdown drag out that you want.”

Sam hesitated, long enough for Dean to notice, before he nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

Dean sighed in relief and turned toward the door, his stomach rolling over itself, sick and bitter.  “Let’s get outta here, then.”

When they left the room, Dean knocked on the door across from them.  Guy glanced at Sam standing behind him as Dean handed the key over.  He said nothing, just patted Dean’s shoulder, and thanked them for coming.  The house was quieter, emptier, on the way out.  Most of the guests either gone or lounging quietly.  Sam stayed a half step behind Dean, head and eyes down.  Dean heard the whispers following them but kept his eyes straight ahead.  Robert was gone from the door and they saw themselves out into the cool quiet dark.  It was the time of night that skirts the edge of morning, just past the witching hour, when even the woods were quiet.  Sam shivered in the chill air, feeling his half-dressed state even more acutely than before. They rode back to the hotel in silence, neither of them even able to handle the noise of the radio. 

Sam’s mind was a maelstrom of half-thoughts and feelings warring and looping around each other.  He played the last day repeatedly in his mind, trying to figure how something that started as a normal, if difficult, case had ended with him getting off on half a blowjob from his brother, and why he didn’t feel as bad about that as he thought he should.  Sam was possibly more confused when they reached the hotel than he had been when he got in the car.  Dean parked them right in front of the room but neither of them moved, letting the quiet ticking of the engine fill the air around them.  His brother seemed content to sit there and Sam couldn’t get inside without him.  His distinct lack of pockets meant that he didn’t even have a lock-pick with him and Dean had the only key card.

He understood Dean’s hesitation.  The car made it all seem surreal.  As if life was paused while they were inside her.  The car meant a transition period, between hunts, between places, safe between “here” and “there” or “then” and “now”.  But if they went inside then the transition would be over and Dean would be faced with an unfinished case and Sam’s stiff movements.  Logically, Sam knew that the best thing to do would be to wait Dean out, let him pull himself together before forcing his hand.  Even now, Sam’s entire back throbbed, a pulsing ache with each beat of his heart.  He knew that it was only going to get worse as the temperature in the car climbed with their combined body heat.

Suddenly, Sam was furious.  He was exhausted and confused, his head was still fuzzy from too many endorphins but not enough sleep, and he hurt and he had to sit here waiting for _Dean_ to be ok?  Like Dean was the injured one?  Dean hadn’t been shoved naked into a crowd of people, chastised like a pet then beaten until he didn’t know which way was up. He shifted in his seat, suddenly much more aware of the bruises on his back and the fact that he was naked under the soft fabric of his pants. A particularly bad welt under his left shoulder caught the stitching in the seat just wrong enough to scratch and Sam couldn’t quite stop the little gasp he made. He hoped it sounded more pained than it felt.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Dean flinch, gripping the wheel even tighter, like that hold was the only thing keeping him from running away.  Or reaching out.  The fury and lust ebbed a little.  He wasn’t sure what would happen now.  How they were going to act around each other.  Actually, that was a lie.  Sam knew exactly how Dean would act.  He wouldn’t.  He would try to sweep everything under the rug and pretend it never happened.  If Sam let them, they could spend the rest of their lives that way.  "Repress and deny" the foundations of a Winchester’s life, just as important as salt and whiskey.  It would be forgiven but never forgotten and they would go to their pyres guilty for having gotten off on it. 

And there it was. The ‘aha’ moment. The light bulb clicking on, the crux of his problem. 

He’d enjoyed it.

All of it.  From the dangerous growl of Dean’s orders to the hot, wet, perfect feel of Dean finally wrapping his lips around Sam’s dick.  Even now, he kind of wanted to lean back and press his bruised flesh harder against the stiff heat of the seat.  He was twisted up and bothered by the completely wrong thing. 

It _should_ have been the fact that it was Dean, that his brother had used him so hard.  That should have bothered him.  It was way passed fucked up, even for them.  But…

He rolled the word around in his head, feeling it out.  It still didn’t bother him.  It was just a word and words only have the power you give them.  He was half-surprised to find that he felt like it was just another way for him and Dean to take care of each other, keep each other close.  Huh.

No, it was the other part that bothered him.  That part of him that had to admit, it had felt a little too good when the stitch had scratched his welt.  That he’d taken the beating and wanted more.  That he’d gotten off on the combination of love and pain. That hanging off that frame, aching and crying, with Dean’s hands roaming his skin had been the freest he’d ever felt. He wasn’t that guy, was he?  He couldn’t be.  He was a fighter.  He’d spent his whole life fighting.  Fighting monsters, ghosts, and the nightmares of the world.  He’d fought their lifestyle and anything or anyone that said he couldn’t have normal.  His entire relationship with his dad had been one huge fight.  Hell, he and Dean had fought plenty of times, especially in his late teens, and he’d never once just rolled over and taken it like that.  But that’s exactly what he'd done.  Dean hadn’t actually overpowered him.  One hand on the back of his neck?  He could think of six moves off the top of his head that would have freed him and left Dean on his ass.  And Dean hadn’t tied him to that frame with anything but words, either. 

So yeah.  As fucked as it was, he was disturbed by his own submission more than anything. 

The windows were almost completely fogged over, the cool May night seeping into the metal and glass, further muting the world around them.

“We should go inside.” Even he jumped at the sound of his voice, cracked and hoarse. Dean jolted so hard the car rocked and gave a quick squeak of protest at the sudden movement shrill in the otherwise still air. In the sickly orange cast of the motel sign Sam could see that Dean’s hands were bloodless around the wheel. For a moment, he was sure he’d have to pry Dean out of the car and force him inside, but then Dean sighed, a barely-there huff of air, and slumped, curling in on himself even as he opened the door and stood. Sam gave him a couple seconds head start before leveling himself out of the passenger seat. He could feel the muscles in his back pulling, already stiff from sitting so still in the car. He tried to stretch as surreptitiously as he could before following Dean up the walk. Sam hobbled into their room, incredibly freaking grateful that they were on the ground floor. Dean untied his boots with single minded concentration before spending a couple minutes getting them exactly even and at a ninety degree angle with the bed, so obviously trying to keep his attention anywhere except on Sam.

Fuck it. Sam was tired and hurt, he could still smell chlorine and sweat in his hair, and whatever oil Dean had used was sticky on his skin. This- whatever the hell it was- could wait until after he’d had a hot shower. In fact, he was sure that Dean would rather it wait. Sam grabbed his shower bag from the top of his duffle and closed himself in the bathroom without a word. The canister of shaving cream in his bag made a small, muffled _tink_ noise when he dropped the whole thing on the back of the toilet. He turned on the hot water and emptied his bag while he waited for the crappy water heater to send him something more impressive than tepid. Eventually it was just short of scalding and he gratefully stepped into the strong spray. This hotel was better than most. They had good water pressure and heat; it just took the hot about five minutes to get to them. The sores decorating his skin from shoulder to thigh screamed in protest when he turned and let the water shoot directly on his back but fuck; he could feel his muscles relaxing already. He hadn’t even been aware of his headache until it started easing with the tension in his shoulders. Slowly, eyes closed against the water, he stretched forward, bending as far as the ache would allow. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but he knew waiting would be worse. The upside being that all the different aches and pains took most of his focus and didn’t leave room for thought. Well, almost.

There was a constant stream of “ _Now what? How did this happen? DeanBrotherLoveMore. No. Why?”_ circling round and round like a white noise in the back of his mind.

Fuck.

 

Dean kept his head down until he heard the bathroom door close. He didn’t wait for the snick of the lock before he was up and out the door. The air was a cool press against his skin, still bitter with exhaust and smoky from the chicken place across the road even though it had closed hours ago. Dean leaned back against the rough brick and let the morning dark settle into him.

He was going to lose Sam.

He had fucked up in ways that no one could forgive and taken something from his brother he could never give back. He hadn’t thought- No. That was a lie. He had thought but decided to do it anyway and damn the consequences. He’d made that choice and taken what he’d wanted from Sam. His brother. His baby brother. The one person in the world he was supposed to protect above all others. And Dean had raped him. He felt nauseous. He didn’t blame Sam for wanting to leave. If he thought that he could finish the hunt himself, he’d have already dropped him off at the bus station. As soon as the hunt was over, he fully planned to let Sam do anything he wanted, he knew the beat down that was coming was fully earned. Then, when Sam was done, Dean would take him anywhere he wanted to go. Even back to Stanford if Sam could stand to be around him that long.  

Fuck. He didn’t want to be alone again. He’d always felt better when everyone he loved was close. Sam was all he had left. It was going to kill him to let Sam go. It made him nervous for the same reason he and dad had never wanted Sam out on his own. Because on his own meant that they couldn’t keep him safe. Then again, he was safer on his own than with Dean.  

He’d never in his life felt so worthless or hated himself so much. Sam could barely walk and after that first attempt to talk, he hadn’t even been able to look at Dean. Dean needed a fucking drink. Or maybe a dozen. The emergency whisky in the trunk was damn tempting. If ever there was an emergency that needed alcohol, this was it. But they still had to catch the fucking werewolf. Sam was hobbling like a man three times his age; Dean could still feel twinges in his shoulder, down his arm and exhaustion pulled at him like a lead weight. He wasn’t going to get near enough sleep and he knew it. Adding a hangover to that just guaranteed that something would go south during this hunt.

His laugh echoed like a sob across the parking lot. Shit. Any further south and they’d both be in hell, saving that yellow-eyed bastard the trouble. At this point, he wasn’t sure he didn’t deserve it. He was supposed to be dead already, a couple of times over. But damned if he’d let that happen to Sam. He stayed where he was, the cream painted brick rough and itchy against his back, the window to their room on his right and the whisky in the trunk mocking him silently towards his left. He stayed for as long as he could; past the light in their room going out and until the sky in front of him lightened to a hazy white with soft tendrils of pink stretched out above him. Kind of like the sky itself was blushing.

He snorted softly. If his thoughts were that damn girly then it was way past time to go to bed. He unlocked the door and let himself back into the room, moving as quietly as he could on legs numbed by sitting on the cold concrete for a couple hours. His socked feet were quiet on the matted shag, not that it mattered. Sam was huge shape under the sheet of the far bed. He was still, but not stiff, and his breathing was soft and regular. It was a good act. If Dean hadn’t spent 22 years of his life being aware of that kid’s every breath he would have bought it. As it was, he silently thanked Sam for the brief reprieve as he shucked off his clothes and crawled into his own bed. He lay with his back to Sam and watched through the window until all he could see in the sky was a bright, cornflower blue.

 

Sam had almost had a heart attack when he came out of the bathroom to find Dean gone. He would have, if he hadn’t seen Dean’s boots still sitting at the foot of his bed. Wherever Dean was, he wasn’t going far barefoot. Sam crossed the room and glanced out the window sideways. Dean was there, right beside their door, just… sitting. Sighing in relief, Sam left him there. There were worse ways Dean could be handling it and he knew better than to push just yet. Instead, he shuffled around the room, straightening up. He spent a long while staring at the bracelet on his wrists, unsure what to do with it. He was sure if he tried giving it back to Dean, his brother’s mood would be even worse. Eventually he shoved it into his bag with the pants and decided to not think about it. He popped a couple ibuprofens before giving up his wait for Dean and hitting the lights. Dawn was creeping on the horizon when Sam heard the lock. He just rolled over and gave Dean the illusion of privacy, feigning sleep in the hope that one or both of them might actually get the real thing. At eleven, when Dean’s alarm finally went off, neither one of them jumped. They just got up and got ready for the day in silence.

Yeah. They should have given this hunt to someone else.


	10. Chapter 10

The list of names Daria had given Dean was short, just five people. Sam pulled up what he could online, which was quite a bit. White pages had given him all the basics and Myspace did the rest. It never failed to amaze him how much people were willing to put out there for anyone to find. They were able to cross two people off the list immediately, including the one guy that had spent time with two of the victims. His page had posts talking about a business trip to Taiwan that were over a month old. A quick call to his business, also listed on his page, confirmed that, yes, Mr. Rich was out of the country and would be for quite some time, could another consultant help you? The second was a woman who had apparently moved to South Carolina two months before hand and had 167 pictures of herself on the beach to prove just how much she loved it.

Even a list of three meant they had a long day ahead of them. A day made even longer because neither of them were talking outside of the case or driving directions. The only time they were close to relaxed was when they were finally doing the first interview. Mrs. Aarons was a pleasant woman who, after a little coaxing, admitted to agents Plant and Page that she might have gone to those parties once or twice. With her husband’s blessing, she was quick to assure them. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual, or anyone showing too much interest in her or her partner of the night. Though she hadn’t been to the last party because she was pregnant and that kind of play just wasn’t safe at the moment. That was when both boys noticed her baby doll shirt wasn’t just for style and that there was the tiniest hint of a bump, low on her stomach. Dean turned to Sam as soon as the front door shut behind them, “Dude, have you ever heard of a werewolf having kids?”

“Not after the change.”

“Well, shit. I don’t know if that disqualifies her or not. Call Bobby and see what you guys can come up with. I’m gonna go visit contestant #4.” Dean tossed Sam the keys and took off down the sidewalk. Sam already had his cell to his ear and was unlocking the trunk by the time Dean rounded the corner at the end of the block. The next guy on the list was only four blocks further so getting there was no problem. The small clapboard house was dark and quiet when it came into view. The white paint was still bright and clean and the lawn was, maybe not freshly mowed but still neat. There wasn’t anything unusual about the house or anything that screamed “abandoned” but Dean felt a prickling of unease anyway. Of course, no one answered his knock or the doorbell.

“Can I help you?”

Dean only started a little at the voice. It actually took him a minute to find the source on the porch next door. The grey haired woman was tiny enough that he’d actually looked past her at first. “Yes, ma’am.” He descended the steps and walked across the small yard to her porch edge, already reaching in his inner pocket for his badge. “I’m agent Plant and I’m looking for Mr. Nimeth. I need to ask him a couple questions but he doesn’t appear to be home. Do you have any idea when he gets in normally?”

She squinted at the badge, more like she couldn’t see it than trying to see if it was real. “He’s out of town. He goes down to Rolla about once a month to spend a week with his mother.”

“Does he now? Well, he is a dutiful son. How long has he been doing that, do you know?”

“‘Bout seven months or so. She had a bad fall end of last summer and he just can’t bear to see her in a home.”

“Do you happen to have her name and number? I really need to get in touch with him.”

 

Sam was sitting in the passenger seat with their dad’s journal balanced on the dash, another book across his knees, and the laptop booted up on the seat beside him.

“We can’t find any mention anywhere of a pregnant Were of any flavor. Bobby’s still looking but, dude, I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Doesn’t matter, I found our guy. Mr. Robert Nimeth hasn’t been home in a couple days. Apparently, he takes off one week a month and he’s supposed to be visiting dear old mom. I called her on the way back and guess who hasn’t been to see his mommy since Christmas?”

Sam snorted and started packing everything away so Dean could climb into the car. “So much for being a good son. Sounds like it could be him.”

“Yeah, now we just need to figure out where the hell he’s staying since he obviously isn’t staying home for these excursions.”

“Well, he’s obviously not leaving town. I’ll start checking the local hotels, see if he’s checking in somewhere or if he’s just parking the car and pretending not to be home.”

“Where does he work?”

“Some little software company, uh…. Brighttree Web. You want the number?”

“Yeah, let’s see if they can tell us anything.”

Sam pulled up a list of motels in the area while Dean made the call. Sam was a little startled when Dean slapped his arm after no hold time.

“Mr. Nimeth, I’m Deputy Plant with the Missouri State Highway Patrol, how are you today sir? Fantastic. Listen, it’s time again for our annual fundraiser and records show that you had donated- No? Well that’s ok. Thank you for your time and you have a good day now.” Dean flicked the phone closed. “Well, he’s still going to work. So, what? He’s letting his neighbors think he’s gone so they don’t notice any late night activity?”

“Then he has to be in a hotel, because no way has he parked his car and is walking to work every morning without one of his neighbors seeing him.”

Sam called a half a dozen hotels while Dean drove them back to a diner they had found near their room. A petite brunette waitress seated them and brought menus and as Sam hung up with yet another desk clerk.

“Do you guys want the menus or are you getting the usual?” She arched an eyebrow at them.

Dean offered a blinding grin “I guess the usual will be just fine, darlin’.”

“Ok, one grilled chicken platter and one bacon double cheese platter. Be about fifteen minutes.” She walked off, menus still in hand.

“I think we’re getting predictable.”

“Food’s good though.”

Sam snorted and went back to calling the hotels. He didn’t even look up when their waitress came back with lemonade, extra sugar for Sam and a Coke for Dean. Damn. They were predictable. He’d called the entire listing on Google by the time their food had arrived and hadn’t gotten a single hit.

“Well damn.”

Dean pulled the laptop over and scrolled the list himself.

“And you called all of them? You’re sure that you didn’t miss one?”

“I called everyone but the Tiger’s Den.”

They looked at each other incredulously.

“There’s no way. No fucking way.”

Sam called the number just to shut Dean up then swore viciously when the front desk immediately connected him with room 214.

“Fuck me. Two weeks we’ve been there and he was right above our heads?!”

“No. No way has he been there the whole time. Neighbor said he’d only been gone since yesterday, right? We weren’t even there last night.” They both skittered sideways from the thoughts that statement brought.

“Well, at least keeping track of him will be easy now. We’ll need to pack up everything and check out so we can skip town as soon as we put him down.”

“Thank God. That may have been the most hideous room we’ve ever stayed in.”

“I don’t know about that. Remember the Rose room up in Lafayette?”

“Jesus, that was awful. I think I had actually repressed that.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen black lights used quite that way before or since.”

They both drifted for a moment in a kind of mute horror, remembering the room that they’d spent a month in while John had cleaned out a nest of sprites. They’d torn the black lights out of the walls before they left and for once, John hadn’t even yelled at them for drawing attention. He’d taken them out for ice cream and even let them stay in a Holiday Inn for a couple nights after that. None of the Winchesters had ever been quite so glad to see the color white.

Dean eyed Sam sideways, reveling in the near normalcy of it while he still could. He was glad they’d found the wolf, he really was. It was going to give him a special pleasure to put a nice, gleaming bullet right through its heart, and maybe a couple extras between its eyes just to make himself feel better.

Sam seemed to realize what they were doing too, because his expression shuttered into a frown. Dean couldn’t believe someone could look determined and hurt at the same time. He could practically hear it before Sam opened his mouth, “Dean-“

“Let’s get goin'.” Dean tossed his napkin down on his half-eaten burger and dropped enough cash on the table for the bill and then some. He was halfway out of the booth, the cracked red vinyl crinkling against his palm when Sam caught his arm.

Sam was pissed, his lips pinched and nostrils flaring as he glared at Dean. “We ARE going to talk about this.”

Dean couldn’t do anything but dip his head and murmur, “I know.”

Sam sighed and dropped his hold, letting Dean finish sliding out of the booth and out the door. The still, Midwestern air was welcome after that, even with eighty percent humidity. He knew Sam wouldn’t give him much time before following him out the door. Neither one of them were real good about letting the other out of sight for very long but he’d take what he could get, even if it was only a couple minutes. Damn Sam’s need to talk. Talking wasn’t going to change anything, wasn’t going to take it back. Why the hell did the kid always want to talk about everything?

The door chime made a light tinkling noise behind him. Dean half turned to watch, expecting his Sasquatch brother and was surprised to see a young couple coming through the door instead. College kids. Some jock and his girlfriend strolled down the sidewalk towards him. The boy moved to put himself between Dean and the girl, slinging his left arm too casually over her shoulders as they passed. Dean snorted his amusement at the looks the kid kept throwing him. Part possessive part aggressive but mostly worried. It was the kind of look that meant the kid had sized Dean up and wasn’t entirely sure that Dean wouldn’t take him, but he’d go down swinging anyway. The girlfriend was smiling at him over the jock’s shoulders, completely oblivious. Dean felt his mouth curl just a little on the side, a kind of sadistic smirk as he gave them a curt nod.

“Stop scaring the natives.”

What little dark amusement he had fled at the sound of his brother’s voice. “But Sammy, he’s making it so easy.”

“Quit being a jackass. Come on.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It wasn’t anywhere near as relaxed as they had been over lunch but it was still light-years better than the beginning of their day. With something that kind of stupidly felt like hope, he decided he’d take it.

“Let’s go kill something.”

 

 

Room 214 was on the end on the opposite side of the hotel from them. Thankfully, they could easily watch it from the parking lot across the street. They’d already packed up and, after making sure it was the cleanest room they'd ever left behind, they’d checked out. The chicken place offered six kinds of fried chicken and the greasiest “grilled” chicken that Sam had ever seen. Dark was seeping across the horizon when a grey car pulled into a parking space next to the stairs and a guy with plain brown hair got out. Dean had the niggling sense of familiarity as the guy walked straight to room 214.

“Sonofabitch.”

“What?”

“Robert Nimeth? Is Robert the doorman.”

“What, the guy that let us in last night?” Sam leaned closer to get a better view just in time to see the door swing shut. “Well damn. That explains how he found them all. Addresses were on every one of those invites. How much do you wanna bet that Guy uses Robert at every party?”

They waited a few minutes for dark to fall more completely and crept across the street, into the bushes on the side of the motel’s parking lot. They were both way too tall for the bushes to actually hide them, but once they were past the edge of the motel, it was dark enough for them to not be noticeable. It took another two very boring hours of waiting quiet and still outside a dark motel window. They stood a dozen feet apart, Dean towards the front of the building where he could see the door and walkway and Sam down the alley enough to watch the window. Sam had started to think that it might all be a horrible coincidence and that somewhere, someone was dying for their mistake, when he caught the sound of the window sliding open. He looked up in time to see a dark shape fall to the ground. The thing that had been Robert Nimeth landed, feet spread and arms down to minimize the impact. Sam drew his gun but the wolf saw the movement and, snarling, took off down the alley.

“Dean!” Sam took off after it, trusting his brother to be right behind him.

Dean had drawn his own weapon when Sam had and was only steps behind him. He could see that the thing was nearing the end of the building and fired off a quick shot, hoping to slow it down. The shot went wide, too rushed and aim off kilter from running, so he only tagged the werewolf’s shoulder. It staggered and lurched sideways, almost going down before it regained its balance and started running again. The pause was long enough for Sam to steady himself and squeeze two rapid shots, both hitting it in the back. The werewolf pitched forward falling hard, face first to the pavement as Dean continued to run past Sam, gun aimed.

Robert didn’t get back up and there was a pool of blood when Sam caught up with Dean. Dean took the left, gun still steady on the dying man’s back, and Sam took position on the right. There was a thick wet, choking sound as Robert’s chest kept heaving in quick gasps, desperately trying to breath. Sam’s shots had torn through his lungs and at the rate he was bleeding; he would drown in his own blood before his heart stopped. Sam looked at Dean for confirmation and when Dean nodded, he dropped to one knee and rolled Robert over. The fangs and claws had already receded, Robert’s eyes were completely unfocused, and blood had already stained his lips and teeth. Sam set the barrel of his gun directly over Robert’s heart and fired two more shots.

He felt a spray of wet heat across his arms and face from the blowback. Light, small flecks that would have been so much larger if the man hadn’t already mostly bled out. The gunshots had echoed off the brick leaving both of them with a faint ringing in their ears. Dean helped Sam to his feet and they ran back, both of them tucking away their guns as they went. As soon as they were inside the car, Dean cranked her beast of an engine and pulled out towards the highway. Almost three weeks in this town and the actual hunt had taken less than three minutes.

The silence in the car was almost overwhelming, and it made the ringing in his ears seem louder by comparison. Sam grabbed some baby wipes and started cleaning the blood off his skin. They kept a pack in the glove box just for that reason. And if they had poured some holy water in the box with the wipes, well, that just made them more versatile. By the time the car pulled onto west 70 Sam was clean as he could get without taking a shower.


	11. Chapter 11

They didn’t stop until well after they had crossed state lines into Kansas. By unspoken agreement, they got off Interstate 70 just outside of Kansas City and headed north. For the next couple of hours they kept turning, driving whatever roads would take them north or west and keep them away from Lawrence. Four hours after leaving Columbia, they pulled into Soldier, Kansas. It was out in the middle of nowhere but there was an ancient motor lodge and a couple of food choices right off the main drag. Dean circled back to the motor lodge and pulled up in front of the darkened office. Neither of them had spoken through the drive, instead letting the tension build with every empty mile. Sam sat quietly in his blood-spattered jeans while Dean pounded on the office door, trying to get them a room. Sam didn’t think he’d get too much sleep but he desperately needed a shower and, really, the Impala was not the place to have the fight he knew was coming. Dean could make whatever placating gestures he wanted; Sam knew that once they actually started talking about it, Dean was going to clam up.  

Lights flared on in the office, distracting Sam from the pit of worry that was growing in his stomach and illuminating his brother’s hunched form. The door opened and a backlit figure appeared. All Sam could make out from the car was that the guy was balding, probably gray and had a beer gut. Sam could see the movements of Dean’s hands and shoulders as he spoke to the manager. Dean never had been able to keep still when he was lying to someone. After a moment, the old guy moved and motioned him inside. Dean disappeared into the office, already pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, and Sam went back to staring out over the almost empty gravel lot. There were two RVs hooked up on the left side of the building and one car in front of a room to the right. Empty enough that the manager would be willing to get up at three am and rent out a room. He knew that Dean was going to ask for the room on the end, so there would be at least three empty rooms between them and their neighbors. Good. He’d probably be yelling at Dean by the end of the night anyway. He just wasn’t sure what he would be yelling. Dean though…

He wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t look Sam in the eye, and he flinched any time they touched. It was obvious in every tense muscle that Dean regretted it. Sam wasn’t entirely sure what Dan was thinking, but it couldn’t be good and it was probably going to make his night difficult. All Sam did know was that he didn’t feel bad about what had happened. All day Sam had been running through it in his head. Not on purpose, it just kept sneaking up on him at odd moments. A shift in the seat or move to reach something would make his back ache and send a skittering sensation down his spine. When he sat down at the diner, his cell had turned sideways in his pocket and poked the bruise ( _hickey_ ) on his hip. That one had almost sent him back up out of his chair. Sam dropped his hand to his hip and pressed slowly, feeling the ache spread out into a gentle warmth low in his body.

The squall of the driver door made him jump, jerking his hand away, and flushing lightly, as if he’d been doing something much worse than sitting with his hand in his lap.

Dean continued his silence and parked the Impala at the end of the lot. They carried their bags into the room barely noticing the décor (blue walls, brown carpet, vintage theme) or the layout (beds perpendicular to the door, bathroom far left, window right). Their movements were automatic, years of ingrained training made the motions thoughtless; locks and salt lines and strategically placed weapons. Sam got first shower by default of having the most gore and Dean had already sprawled across the bed closest to the door, flicking through the channels on the ancient TV set on the wall. Sam gave a quick warning about the crappy water pressure when Dean tossed him the remote and Sam sprawled out on his own bed, keeping the channel surfing ritual while Dean washed away the day. It was all so normal it made his teeth hurt. He was flipping between Nick at Nite and a local news channel when the bathroom door opened.

Time was up and he still had no idea what he was going to say. He didn't even know what he wanted. But if they didn’t at least try, it would always be there. Like a splinter, just under the surface. Irritating. There.

Dean was already dressed for bed, a worn tee, boxers, and with his dirty clothes balled up in his hands. If it had been anyone but Dean, Sam would have said his brother was clutching them, almost like a shield. There was barely a pause in Dean’s steps before he crossed the room to his duffle.

“There’s a Greyhound in Topeka.” Dean said as he squatted next to his bag, shoving his dirty clothes in to one side.

“What?”

“I said there’s a Greyhound station down in Topeka.”

And, ok, that didn’t make any more sense the second time. “And?”

“And, it’s only a couple hours south. I can take you in the morning. If you want. Or, you know, I’m sure there’s an airport too.”

Sam sat up and turned to face his brother fully. “Wait, did I miss part of this conversation? What the hell are you talking about?”

Dean had kept his back to the rest of the room and was still fiddling with the straps on his bag. After a minute, he sighed and with a small grunt, he pushed himself to his feet. He leaned back against the triple dresser, arms crossed and jaw set, defiance in every line of his body, the kind of body language that said he expected a fight. That was when Sam finally worked out what Dean was offering.

“Dean, I’m not leaving.”

“Really? Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you did, man. You didn’t ask for this shit. Any of it. I’m the one that keeps dragging you along.”

“What?” This wasn’t the fight he’d been expecting.

“I’m just saying. You set out to find Dad, get some answers. We did that. You don’t have to stick around, Sam. You can go do your own thing, go back to college, whatever.”

Sam gritted his teeth against the low rage simmering underneath his skin. “We aren’t anywhere near done. Not until that Yellow Eyed Bastard is dead and gone. Not until we figure out what it’s up to. I’m not going anywhere. Seriously, dude, what the hell?”

Dean watched him for a moment. Whatever he saw on Sam’s face seemed to settle something because Dean sighed again and let his shoulders drop, some of the tension easing out of him and a sort of heaviness taking its place. “Nothing. It was nothing. Never mind. We’ll talk about it after we get some sleep.”

“Like hell. What the fuck is going on in that head of yours?”

“What do you think?” Dean snapped. “The same thing that’s been going through yours. I mean, Christ Sam, what I…”  

Even from the other bed, Sam could see that any tension lost had snapped back in full force. Every muscle in his brother’s body was strung painfully tight. He didn’t know what to do but wait, more than a little nervous, and let Dean finish on his own terms.

“I’m sorry Sam. So fuckin' sorry. And I shouldn’t- Fuck. Just, I’m sorry. Ok? But I’m telling you, I will never touch you again. Never. And that is a promise. Can you live with that? Can we be ok with that?”

He still hadn’t worked out, even with himself, exactly what he had wanted. But this absolutely was not it. This wasn’t a resolution; it didn’t fix anything between them. It was avoidance at best and edged on being an out and out lie. It sure as shit was a long way from ‘ok’. But he could see how badly Dean wanted it. He could almost hear Dean asking him, _Please, Sammy, let this be alright._ He couldn’t do anything against the earnestness in Dean’s face. It was so rare that Dean let himself be that vulnerable, especially to his little brother. Dean didn’t want what had happened between them, but he didn’t want Sam to leave either.  

“Of course, man. We’re ok.” Swallowing against the bitter taste in the back of his throat, Sam knew he’d made the right choice. His chest was a hollow ache and somehow he felt like he’d lost something precious, but the tension visibly drained from Dean’s form, his relief was almost palpable in the air around them.

“Yeah?” Dean hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do.  

“Yeah.” Sam could do this, really he could.

“Good.” Something almost like a smile curled at the edges of Dean’s lips. It was fake and it was forced and no one who could see it would have believed it for a minute but Sam just plastered his own smile on in return.

“Ok. Well, this is getting incredibly awkward, so I’m going to bed. You can go ahead and…” Dean made a vague motion to the TV still playing quietly in the background.

“No, I’m pretty beat. Think I’m ready to turn in too.” Sam shut it off, stopping the canned laughter mid-track and lay back against his pillows watching Dean do the same. Even though he felt sick and his every nerve was twitching with the wrongness of it all, the sleepless nights of the last couple of weeks caught up with him.

 

He woke to the smell of coffee and grease and Dean slamming the door closed behind him. “Rise and shine, Princess.”

Sam blinked at the clock between the beds, “It’s only been five hours. Go back to bed.”

“Nuh-uh. Up and at ‘em, Sammy. There’s a poltergeist over in Utah. ‘Sides, I want to put some more miles between us and Missouri. Come on. Let’s get moving.”

He started to glare at Dean until he actually got a look at his brother. Dean’s smile strained at the edges, his easy confidence was a little forced, and the circles under his eyes told Sam just how long Dean had been up looking for this hunt. He was across the room at the small dinette set and he hadn’t slapped Sam’s foot or even come near him. All of it just a little bit to the left of normal and the longer Sam watched the more he could see the mask slipping.

“Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute. You better have coffee and breakfast for me too.”

Dean’s smile turned a little more genuine as Sam stretched and hauled out of bed.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

It was constant after that; Chupacabra in New Mexico, Bogart in Oklahoma, escaping from prison, and more ghosts than Sam wanted to count. Then there was that goddamned djinn with his damn wish dreams. Dean got even more reclusive after that, talking even less and flinching every time he touched Sam. It was like seeing what they could have been, made him even more uncomfortable with what they were.

It went on for months, hunting monster after monster with no rest in between until they took on a Kitsune that had somehow taken up residence out in Bumfuck, Minnesota. She had taken one look at them and cackled, “Oh boys. And you want to stop my fun? Stop me from teaching these fools a lesson when you two harbor such sins and so much regret? Tell me, warrior, have you even once forgotten the taste of your brother’s seed?”

Dean threw himself at her with a wordless fury that terrified Sam. It had been all he could do to convince her not to kill his idiot brother so he could drag Dean out of there. After knocking Dean out and stitching him up, Sam went back to try and finish the hunt right. It took him four more hours and spending half their money on offerings to convince her to move to a more secluded area tucked away in a forgotten corner of Chippewa National Forest.

She wouldn’t leave without having the last word though. “You deal fairly, Sam Winchester. You should be rewarded.”

“No thanks. Your kind of payment isn’t really necessary.”

“A gift, then. Knowledge to reward your consideration.”

“About what?” Sam had read stories of the Kitsunes’ double sided ‘gifts’.

“You have so much guilt and regret, but it’s misplaced. Your sin isn’t the part you play in the plans of the western demons. It isn’t that you have lain with your brother or even the perversities you enjoy. ”

“Do you know? What the demon has planned for me? What I’m supposed to do?” He couldn’t quite keep the hope and trepidation out of his voice.

She shook her head, her red-gold hair shifting forward and only just showing the points of her ears. “No. I see his mark on you like a bloodstain. I know that you are destined for something, but not what.”

Sam slumped, unsure if he was relieved or disappointed. “Then what is my sin?”

“That you lie to yourselves and each other. It’s a betrayal of sorts to keep causing so much pain for no reason. You need to be honest before you tear each other apart.”

“Yeah, because that’s exactly what Dean needs to hear. He can barely stand to be around me as it is.”

She just looked at him, an unreadable expression in her almond eyes. But from the set of her shoulders and the way her ghost of a smile seemed sad, he had the uncomfortable feeling that it might be pity. She was gone before he could say anything else, vanished between one blink and the next. That was just as well, since he had no idea what to say to that anyway.

Dean was awake when he got back to the car; still sprawled out across the back seat with his arm thrown over his face and his wounded leg propped up on the back door.

“Did you kill it?” Dean’s voice was raspy from yelling but otherwise blank.

“She’s half spirit, half god. You can’t really kill that. Which you would have known if you had listened to a word I said before charging in, half-cocked, trying to get yourself killed. I bribed her into moving to some place uninhabited that isn’t likely to be logged for a good long while. It’s the best we can do.”

Dean just made a noncommittal noise and struggled into a sitting position. Sam tried to help him but Dean shrugged him off, scooting halfway across the seat while he did it. After that, Sam just stepped back and let him level himself upward and limp around to the front passenger door. “Come on, Francis. Get us back to civilization. I need a drink.”

Sam pulled into the next village they came to, some small cluster of buildings that might not even have a name. The only motel in town was one of the old roadside affairs that popped up in the sixties; a couple of long one story buildings crowded around a bar and grill that barely passed code. Inside, the room was clean but worn and everything showed signs of age, from the sagging mattresses on the ancient beds to the yellowed wallpaper curling off the wall. There was an overlying scent of cigarette smoke in the room that the harsh, chemical smelling air freshener had done nothing to ease. Dean limped into the room dragging his bag with him. Sam tried to double check his stitches but Dean had backed away snapping, “I’m fine,” before grabbing some clothes and hiding out in the bathroom.

Dean only stayed long enough to change out of his blood soaked clothes then he was back out the door, “Don’t wait up” tossed carelessly over his shoulders.

 

The bar was a complete dive, filthy, ragged, and dusty with too few women and too many rednecks. The rickety barstool teetered alarmingly when he sat down, but the alcohol was cheap and the bartender kept serving them up as long as he paid. Six or seven shots and a couple of beers later, the cowboy at the pool table was looking like a better option than the few dried up barflies wearing too much makeup too thick for their wrinkles. His hair was too dark and his eyes were too blue, but he was young and tall with huge, calloused hands. Better still; the guy had been watching Dean in the mirrors behind the bar since he walked in. All it took was three more shots to work up the nerve and a slow, dirty smile before sauntering out the front door.

Cowboy came out behind him, following him around the back of the building. Dean didn’t give him a chance to speak; he just crowded Cowboy up against one of the motel walls and shoved his tongue in the guy’s mouth. Figured that he had a better than good chance of being right. If not? Well, a fight would be ok too. The guy didn’t fight him though, just opened wide, letting Dean in. He tasted like sour beer and Wintermint gum. Sam hated Wintermint. Pushing the thought away, Dean scrabbled to open Cowboy’s oversized belt buckle and jeans, pulling his cock out. He considered getting to his knees, but the guy was already slumped back against the wall, legs spread and moaning obscenely just from Dean’s hand. So he jacked Cowboy dry and rough until the man moaned out, “Oh fuck, shit” and came all over both of their shirts.

Cowboy gave him a sated smile and ran his hands down to the button of Dean’s jeans, but Dean stepped back out of reach. He’d only managed to get half hard and now, watching this guy, seeing all the differences, and hearing that goddamned Kitsune’s words in his head… The wrongness of it galled him. He just waived off the guy’s attempts and wandered back to the Impala.

Lying in her back seat, remembering the crack of his belt across reddened skin and short guttural moans, he came so hard he whited out. Dean spent the next couple of hours with the emergency whisky trying to drown his thoughts.

 

 _Don’t wait up._ Yeah, fucking, right. Sam was still wide-awake, sitting at the table with his laptop when Dean finally came stumbling through the door. Even from across the room he stunk of booze and smoke and there was a large stain on the front of his shirt that looked way too fucking much like dried come. A bitter copper taste exploded through Sam’s mouth and he belatedly realized he was biting his tongue so hard it bled. Dean only stood at the door blinking at him before stripping down and climbing into bed with his back to Sam. Almost immediately, Dean passed out, his drunken snores grating Sam’s every last nerve. Even though his brother didn’t deserve it, Sam still put water and aspirin out on the bedside table and picked up after him. He moved Dean’s boots to the end of the bed and quietly folded Dean’s jeans and socks to put them in the dirty laundry bag. He threw the shirt away.

The next morning, when Dean tried to hurry them along to the next hunt, Sam put his food down. “We’re not leaving.”

“It’s just a couple of stitches, dude. It’s not like I’m paralyzed.”

“No, but you can’t run either. Hell, you’re hobbling when you walk. You can’t hunt if you can’t run.” Dean looked set to argue and Sam cut him off, “Not even a salt and burn. We aren’t going anywhere until that gash heals. I’m not letting either one of us get hurt because you’re stubborn. Give the case to someone else.” At that, Sam went to the office and paid for two weeks before Dean could change his mind.

It didn’t help as much as Sam had hoped because even without hunting Dean managed to distance himself. What little conversation they’d been able to manage before had dried up completely and Dean still couldn’t so much as brush Sam accidently without cringing away. Not that Dean was close enough to touch very often. He went out every night, not coming back to the room until he had nowhere else to go and nothing left to drink. The smell of cheap perfume would be as thick as the smell of smoke most nights, but there weren’t any more come stains so Sam decided to be thankful for that.  

Near the end of the two weeks, Dean’s stitches had healed enough for him to run without limping if he didn’t overdo it, and Dean started actively looking for a hunt. Sam was forced to acknowledge that nothing was going to change. Things weren’t going to get better between them, and Dean was just going to start the cycle over, running from one monster to the next until something beat him. Dean wasn’t suicidal, but he was trying to atone and Sam had had enough.

Dean was at the table giving him the rundown of what might be a revenant down in Louisiana when Sam blurted out, “It’s ok if you touch me.” Damnit. That was awkward as fuck, and not at all how he meant to start this.

“Sam-”

“Look I know that this is weird, that we’re a little weird right now. I’m just saying that I won’t… flip out or whatever if-”

“Don’t. Ok? We’re ok. You told me we could be alright, so we are. Just leave it alone.”

“We can’t.”

“Yes we can. I won’t touch you again. I already said that, it’s fucking done, drop it.” Dean shoved back so hard his chair toppled and slammed out the door.

Sam threw the punch before he could think about it. The dull thud and crack of plaster under his knuckles was almost as satisfying as the short burst of pain in his hand and the jolt that shot up his arm. He was going to have to pay for that, but fuck it. He missed his brother and was getting goddamned tired of talking to Dean’s back.


	13. Chapter 13

He had spent the better part of two hours staring at that hole in the wall and not letting himself make more before some young, cowboy wannabe that Sam vaguely remembered seeing around the bar, knocked on the door. The kid’s eyes bulged and he took a half step back when Sam opened it. The kid may have been close to Sam’s height, but he wasn’t as muscular or so obviously irritated.

“Can I help you?”

Cowboy licked his lips nervously. “Is Dean yours?”

“What did he do?”

“You need to come get him ‘fore he gets himself killed. He’s drunk and trying to shark the Rosson boys and that whole family’s got a temper.”

Sam cursed and headed out the door. He could see the kid giving him funny looks while they crossed the gravel lot to the bar. “What?”

“Nothing.” The kid flushed and looked straight ahead, “You just look a little familiar is all. Like maybe you look like someone I know.”

Sam glanced over at him and kind of understood what he meant. Something about him niggled at the back of Sam’s mind. There was some kind of recognition that he didn’t have time to worry about because he could hear someone yelling even before he opened the bar door.

Shit. Maybe the situation was a little worse than he'd thought.

Dean was at the back of the bar on a short platform standing next to the scarred pool table. His pool cue held loosely at his side, deceptively relaxed despite the four guys surrounding him. They were all fairly young, maybe mid-twenties, and he could see the familial similarity in them. The two guys in back were probably brothers, both blond and square jawed. The guy on the left had the same square jaw but brown hair that matched the fourth guy, obviously the leader, who had his back to Sam. The leader was practically in Dean’s face yelling about “cheating” and “fucking hustler”.  

It wasn’t pretty but Sam thought he might just make it in time, might stop the fight before it became a brawl.

“Goddamn pretty-boy. Why don’t you go back to hustling them cock-sucking lips? Least that’s honest work.”

Fuck.

“Dean, no!” His brother either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. The guy that had been in Dean’s face and the other dark haired man went down before Sam even made it halfway to them. The pool cue swung down and snapped across the leader’s back before Dean turned to the remaining two. Sam watched the broken edge of the cue swing back around and could actually hear Dean growl. The blonde closest to Dean gaped at his prone friends and then tried to run past him, not even wanting to fight, while the other blonde ran the opposite direction. Dean slammed the thick edge of the cue across the guy’s knees, dropping him to the floor. He had actually followed the guy down and would have broken more than the guy’s kneecap if Sam hadn’t finally reached them. He didn’t break momentum, instead tackling Dean sideways off his victim. He blocked the arm that was swinging at him and slammed Dean’s hand against the ground once, twice, until the remains of the pool cue clattered across the floor. Sam settled on top of Dean, holding his wrists down until Dean could realize who he was.

“Enough. Dean, it’s over.” Dean stayed tense but he stopped fighting back. After a moment, he nodded tersely and Sam knew that was as good as he was going to get. He eased off Dean and hauled him to his feet. As soon as he was upright, Dean jerked out of Sam’s hands and darted back to the leader. He only managed one kick to the guy’s side before Sam grabbed him again, pinning his arms to his side. Sam squeezed tight and hauled Dean backwards, picking him up off the ground long enough to get them off the dais and headed towards the door. The bartender had a handgun trained on them as they passed through the bar.

“He doesn’t come back here.”

“Not a problem.”

Somebody opened the door and Sam dragged his still struggling brother outside. He didn’t let go until the door clicked shut behind them, cutting them off from the silent crowd and Van Halen’s forgotten wailing. He shoved Dean forward into the parking lot when he let go. It gave him enough time to throw a solid punch right into Dean’s solar plexus when his brother turned to head back inside. Dean doubled over and stopped, breath knocked out of his lungs.

“I swear to fuck, Dean, I will knock your ass out if you don’t turn around.”

There was a moment when he thought his brother would fight him anyway, but when Dean straightened, he turned around and stormed back towards their room. Still tense, Sam followed, staying half a dozen steps behind in case Dean decided to rush him.

The door bounced off the wall when Dean slammed through it. Sam felt a little bad for the manager when another pockmark appeared in the plaster but he didn’t have time to dwell on it too much. Dean paced the small area at the foot of the beds, his limp getting more pronounced as he overused his leg and Sam noticed a small spot of blood on Dean’s jeans. Shit. He’d torn his stitches. Sam kept an eye on Dean’s leg as he paced and watched the spot grow. It was slow enough that Sam didn’t think it would be a problem but it worried him anyway. Eventually, Dean stopped pacing like a caged animal, his strides slowing as some of the anger seeped away. When he finally limped to a stop, Sam stepped up to his side.

“Let me check your leg.”

Dean huffed an almost laugh and shook his head. Sam could hear the, _I’m fine,_ without Dean saying it. Yeah, he was getting sick of that phrase too, even when it wasn’t being said. Gently, he laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Dean let-”

Dean shied away from the touch soon as he felt it, jerking his shoulders and stepping away, like Sam was something loathsome and wrong. The last of Sam’s patience snapped.

“Jesus Christ, Dean, it’s not like I’m going to rape you!” His teeth clacked together, too late realizing what he was saying and trying to stop it. Dean paled so quickly Sam had the wild thought that he might drop where he stood. “Shit. That’s not- Dean, I don’t-” but Dean had already bolted to the bathroom, the door banging shut like an afterthought behind him. The sound of Dean’s retching was too loud and harsh in the small room.

Sam collapsed down on the end of a bed and cradled his head in his hands. Sick, burning guilt closed around his lungs. Fuck. How did everything get so out of hand? He could feel a fine tremor start deep in his bones, the kind of shaking that would end with him either crying or fighting. Another gut ripping sound came from the bathroom and ended in something way too close to a sob for Sam. He was using his pocketknife to pop the lock on the bathroom door before he was aware of moving.

Dean’s eyes were squeezed shut, as if that could stop the burning tears Sam saw escaping, and he had curled around the toilet bowl doing his very damnedest to puke up everything he’d ever eaten. He didn’t hear the door or the sound of Sam calling his name. He was too deep in his loathing to notice anything, even when Sam dropped to the floor behind him, only just fitting between Dean and the wall.

Sam sat a hand on the back of Dean’s neck, intending to help his brother stay steady and upright. Dean skittered away, as much as being pinned between the toilet and tub would allow, waving Sam off.

“No,” Dean gripped the toilet seat as he gagged. “Won’t touch- promised I-” He could barely speak while his stomach heaved violently and it took Sam a minute to get what he was saying between retches. Then it took him a couple minutes more to understand and everything that had been happening for the last four months finally added up. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want to touch Sam, but he thought that Sam didn’t want to touch him. In that moment, Sam hated them both, just a little, because the entire situation was fucked in a way that only the Winchesters could manage.

Sam wrapped his left arm around Dean’s waist and laid his right hand across Dean's forehead, steadying his brother over the toilet bowl. The sour, overpowering smell of vomit and whisky filled the tiny room while Dean gagged so hard he practically convulsed. The small tremors that Sam had felt in himself where magnified a hundred times over in Dean, every muscle trembling and weak between retches, repeatedly being cramped to the point of exhaustion. Dean had long since emptied his stomach of alcohol and bile by the time the heaving eased. Eventually even the dry heaving stopped and Dean calmed down enough for to Sam feel comfortable reaching over one handed to wet a washcloth with cold water from the tub. He squeezed it out as best he could and handed it to his brother. While Dean held it to his face, Sam shifted Dean more solidly against him and turned enough to push the lever on the tank. He leaned back, away from the toilet, pulling Dean with him. Dean struggled weakly for a moment, a pale shadow of his earlier fights, before giving up and hanging his head. Sam took the rag from where Dean had dropped it on the floor and laid it across the back of his brother’s neck, making him shiver once then relax. Trails of water dripped from the washcloth and soaked into the neck of Dean’s grey tee shirt, leaving darkened blotches around his collar. The air was still slightly bitter, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been and he could breathe a little more easily. The cracked linoleum was hard against Sam’s knees and since he hadn’t moved from that spot, the cold had seeped into the joint. The ache had been made worse because he had practically pulled his grown brother onto his lap and his knees did not appreciate the extra weight. Keeping his arms around Dean, he leaned back until he actually was sitting against the wall, and spread his legs to make room for Dean between his thighs. It wasn’t much better to be sitting on the floor, cramming both of their long legs into such a small space, but at least he wouldn’t lose feeling this way.

“You shouldn’t be anywhere near me.” It was the first coherent thing Dean had said since Sam walked into the bar.

“Shut up. I’m not afraid of you, dude.”

“So you hate me then. S’ok. You should.”

Anger spiked through Sam, hot and sharp. “Jesus. You’re never drinking again. I only want to say this once so actually fucking listen. I. Don’t. Hate you. You did not hurt me.” Dean’s acidic laugh cracked halfway through so Sam just squeezed him tighter, fingertips bruising into Dean’s side. “Don’t start. You know what I mean.”

“You said no. Repeatedly. At the top of your lungs. And I beat you ‘til you couldn’t think then raped you. How the hell is that anything but ‘hurt’?”

Ice flooded Sam’s veins, his earlier comment suddenly seeming so much worse. “Fuck, Dean. You didn’t rape me. I could have stopped you. You didn’t hold a gun to my head. You didn’t tie me down. You only had ahold of me with one hand you know damn good and well that I could have gotten away. Hell, you taught me how. Ok, maybe I didn’t ask for it but if I had really been that worried about stopping you then I could have. And when you stop this self-hatred bullshit, you’ll know that.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam could feel the drops hitting his arms. It didn’t take much to figure out that Dean was crying; again or still, Sam wasn’t sure. He could feel tears gathering in his eyes when he realized just how bad these last few months had really been for Dean.

“Alright, dude. We are putting this conversation on hold until you’re sober. For now, just trust me. It wasn’t rape and I don’t hate you, ok?” Sam braced his back against the wall and pushed to his feet, dragging Dean up with him. “C’mon. Bed time.”

 

Dean’s movements were mechanical as he shuffled into the bedroom, Sam directly behind him keeping a light hold on Dean’s waist. When Sam gave him a gentle shove towards the bed nearest the bathroom, he dropped onto the mattress without comment. He was aware that he was crying only in the vaguest sense; he could feel the tears on his cheeks. The drinking and high emotions had finally wiped him out and everything was starting to go blissfully numb, taking on a kind of detached quality. His boots and socks were stripped away while he sat there listlessly staring at nothing. He didn’t move until Sam reached under his shirt, fingers skimming across his abs when Sam gripped the hem. Dean startled at the touch and tried to push Sam’s hands away.

“Stop. Dean, stop. There’s vomit on your shirt.”

He looked down and sure enough, there was a wet spot about mid-chest. Sam pulled his shirt up and over his head so Dean had no choice but to lift his arms and let it be taken from him. There was still enough alcohol in his system that his temperature was running high and his skin immediately pebbled in the coolness of the room. Sam disappeared back into the bathroom with Dean’s shirt still in hand. When he heard the faucet turn on, Dean laid down on his side facing the bathroom.

The light from the bathroom was the brightest. The yellow light from the bedside table was weak and cast a sickly pallor into the mostly darkened room. It barely put out enough light for the bed, let alone to light the entire room. The two clashed at the foot of the bed, throwing strange shadows across the floor. Suddenly Sam was a huge silhouette blocking the bathroom door until the light behind him went out, leaving the room dusk-like. Dean could see the shape of his brother walk around his feet toward the other bed. The lamp between them made a soft click and Dean squeezed his eyes closed against the coming darkness. That was dumb, he supposed, since it wasn’t any less dark with his eyes shut. The second click sounded and the red-orange behind his eyelids went black. He was waiting for the purple-green afterimages to disappear when he felt the bed dip behind him. His eyes flew back open, which did about as much good as closing them in the first place.

“What-”

“Shut up.”

Sam pulled on Dean’s hips to get him to roll over and generally manhandled him until he was facing his brother and tucked up under Sam’s chin. If he were any less drunk, he’d have something to say about this.

“Tomorrow, when you’re sober, you and I are going to have a talk. For right now, shut up and go to sleep.” Sam looped an arm across Dean’s waist to curl them that much closer together and buried his face in Dean’s hair.

“M’not a chick, damnit.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean wanted to say something, he really did. But his head was still fuzzy and there was a headache forming behind his eyes and he couldn’t quite get past that to whatever his thought was. Besides, Sam was just this side of too warm and Dean was comfortable. He was asleep before he could remember why he wasn’t supposed to be.


	14. Chapter 14

Even with his eyes closed, the light from the window was stabbing his brain. That was a really shitty feeling to have when you first wake up. With a low groan, Dean squeezed his itchy eyes more firmly closed and rolled away from the window, which wasn’t nearly as helpful as it should have been. Especially since the movements made his stomach roll dangerously and his head spin. Fuck. Today was going to suck epically hard. He curled in on himself and waited for the world to please stop moving.

“You know, I realized last night that I should probably have made you drink some water to save you from a hangover. But then I remembered what an asshole you were being.”

Logically, Dean knew that Sam wasn’t yelling. Logically. But the rumble of Sam’s voice made the ache behind his eyes pound and Dean couldn’t help making a sound that was absolutely not a whimper. “We’re even then, ‘because dying didn’t hurt this bad.” Dean shuddered when the bed squeaked and sank in front of him.

“Open your eyes.” Sam murmured from somewhere above him.

“Hell no.”

“There’s water and drugs in front of your face. Open your eyes and take them.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes to see Sam’s hands holding the promised medicine. There was a moment, as he handed the empty cup back, that he thought it all might come back up. Somehow, he managed not to embarrass himself further by puking all over the bed.

“So how bad is it?”

“I feel like someone put a spoon through my eye and is trying to scrape my brains off the back of my skull.” He closed his eyes and settled into a nice cool spot on the pillow while Sam huffed a small laugh.

“Wanna go out for drinks tonight?”

His stomach roiled, the water sloshing around dangerously. Dean groaned, “I hate you,” and curled inwards as Sam out and out laughed.

“Remember that the next time you drink.”

Dean grumbled under his breath and tried to relax back into the oblivion of sleep. He was half-gone, a dream forming just beyond his awareness when the warmth of Sam’s hand settled on the side of his neck. Any semblance of sleep shattered. The adrenaline rush made his head pound in time with his heartbeat and he tried not to move, waiting to see where his brother was going with this. Sam just sat there, resting one hand on Dean like it was something normal. Like things weren’t all fucked up between them anyway.

“Sam?”

Apparently, his attention was what Sam was waiting for because he squeezed softly, more a flex of fingers than anything, and pulled his hand away. “I told you. We’re gonna talk.”

“Now? I can barely think.”

“Ok, so maybe I lied. Because when I said ‘we’re going to talk’ what I actually meant was _I’m_ going to talk and you’re going to listen.”

Dean just sighed and forced himself to relax, body going limp against the mattress and staring at Sam expectantly.

Sam took that for the permission it was. “This bullshit has got to stop, man. I’m here. I’m not leaving and I don’t want to. I’m not afraid of you, Ok? You don’t disgust me and I don’t hate you. So quit fucking trying to punish yourself or running off every time I try to talk to you. I’ve had enough and it stops. Now.”

“What do you-”

“Stop talking. You’re listening, remember?” He paused long enough to make sure Dean was staying silent. “I’m not a kid anymore, and I can damn sure make up my own mind. What happened between us happened. I’m ok with that. Do you hear me? I’m ok. What I’m not ok with is you doing this to yourself because of some fucked up, self-martyring sense of honor, or whatever this is.”

Dean couldn’t lie there anymore. He sat up and scooted back against the headboard, ignoring the throb in his leg and behind his eyes. “I fucking raped you.”

“Did you listen to anything I said last night? You. Did not. Rape me. Ok? You didn’t hurt me, Dean. I’m a big boy. If I hadn’t been ok with it, if I hadn’t trusted you, I would have stopped you. You know I could. Are you hearing me yet? Because I’m getting real tired of repeating myself.”

“Stop feeding me bullshit and I will.” The rush of anger flooding his veins made the pounding in his head become a steady pain. Fuck, he was too hung over for this conversation. “Come on Sam, you can’t tell me that you wanted any of that.”

“Really? Because I would have thought that humping you and begging you to touch me were pretty good signs that I was on board.”

“You were so out of your head you didn’t know what was happening. I saw you when you woke up. Ok? I saw how fucking betrayed you felt. The way you looked at me? Fuck. I can’t- I knew how much I fucked up when I saw that.” He could feel the prickling behind his eyes and had to stop. He was sick of hurting about this.

Sam sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I can’t tell you exactly what I was thinking then, but it was about me. There was some stuff that I had to work out about myself after that. But I swear, I never once hated you or felt betrayed. I trust you. You’re my brother.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t help. There’s a name for that, Sam, and it isn’t ‘well adjusted’.”

“It’s just a word, Dean.”

“A pretty fucking important word when it breaks every law of god and man.”

Sam stood and started pacing the floor next to the bed. “Fuck that. You don’t even believe in God and you break the law every day. Why should this be any more important?”

“Because I’m supposed to take care of you, that’s my job.” Fuck, why couldn’t Sam just understand that?

His brother turned back towards him then, eyes softened and arms spread wide. “Who says you weren’t? Man, when I stopped fighting it and just gave in to you? I can’t remember the last time my mind was that quiet. I was able to just let everything go. Everything. Dad, Jess, the demon and his plans for me… all of it. Gone. That was the most peaceful I’ve felt in years. And I got to tell you, now that I’ve had that, I want it again.” Sam was looking at him, near to tears himself. The silence stretched out taffy like, thick and heavy between them while Dean let that sink in. Sam settled back down on the edge of the bed, turned and facing Dean.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Sam.”

“Right now? I want you to take care of yourself. Everything else we can work on, but you gotta stop punishing yourself over this and you gotta trust me.”

Easier said than done, but Dean nodded anyway. “Yeah, alright.”

Sam’s posture didn’t change much but Dean could feel the shift in his mood, relief and a bitter happiness pouring off him in waves. For a moment, Dean thought that Sam might actually hug him and he really, really didn’t think he could take that. His chest already felt cracked and sore, he just couldn’t handle anymore sharing and caring.

“Anything else you want? Should I maybe braid your hair? Order in some cake and ice cream and curl up together watching Lifetime? Or can this chick flick moment finally die a natural death?”

Sam cackled, a surprised burst of laughter that Dean hadn’t heard in a while. He hadn’t seen just how bad Sam had been lately until it was gone, like a switch thrown under Sam’s skin, lighting him up from the inside.  

“No, you jackass, I think I’m good.”

“So leave me alone so I can go back to sleeping off this hangover. My head feels like hell.”

“Yeah, not so much. We have to be outta here in about an hour, so you might as well get up.”

“Oh come on.”

“Hey, I’m not the one that put three local boys in the hospital in a bar brawl. The bartender wasn’t the only one pissed off at you. We need to leave today.”

Fuck. He hadn’t forgotten about the fight exactly, but he hadn’t really thought about it either. “They might not be in the hospital. I was pretty drunk.”

Sam’s brows drew together and one side of his mouth turned down. “I checked this morning when I went to get coffee. You broke one guy’s knee, gave a concussion to another, and the guy that was yelling at you? You gave him a concussion and broke three of his ribs. We gotta get out of this town.”

Shit. “Why haven’t the cops shown up yet?”

“Some skinny cowboy wannabe and his friends were falling all over themselves to tell the cops that the Rosson’s… that was the name of the family you started a fight with, by the way… that the Rosson boys started it. Four against one and you were just defending yourself. Do I even want to know what you did to have him lying like that?”

It took Dean a moment to figure out who Sam was talking about. Guilt slicked through his ribs when he finally pulled up the face of the kid he had jacked off their first night here. The kid he maybe had been flirting with since then and might possibly have blown in the bathroom of the bar before running off to bang some blond chick with a tramp stamp. He could admit to himself that he’d been using the kid and, yeah, that made him feel just as shitty as it sounded. “Just been drinking with him a lot these last couple weeks.”

Sam didn’t look entirely convince, but he left it alone. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t kidding about _that_ last night either. That’s part of taking care of yourself. The drinking has got to slow down, man.”

Dean didn’t answer him. Instead, he groaned and threw the covers back and started climbing out of bed. Sam moved away, giving him room to get up, but only by a couple steps. Dean’s leg protested when he went to stand, an aching pain shooting up his calf. He looked at the stark white bandages on the side of his leg, frowning at the fresh, tender feeling. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember bandaging his leg at any point over the last couple of days. For that matter, he was sure he had been wearing pants when he passed out because he would have freaked the fuck out if Sam had stripped his pants too.

Sam saw where he was looking and explained before he could ask. “Because you are a stupid, stubborn jackass who wouldn’t listen, you tore your stitches and bled through your jeans. I stripped you down and butterflied them after you passed out last night.”

Dean nodded and looked up at his brother who was standing just a couple feet away like a small mountain of concern. “So, no drinking for a while I guess.”

“Yeah. No drinking for a while.”

“Then I need coffee.”

The coffee Sam had brought wasn’t hot anymore but it was black, strong, and at least still warm enough to slam down. A quick shower to clean the night’s sins off him and Dean was ready to get the hell out. Sam, however, took his clothes hostage while he was in the shower and refused to give them back until Dean let him check his leg.

Dean flinched as soon as Sam touched him, four months of habit and self-hatred still ingrained. He stayed tense the whole time Sam was changing the wet bandages for fresh; entirely too aware that Sam was touching him, and that he wasn’t wearing anything but a towel while Sam was kneeling at his feet.

 

They still managed to have the car loaded by check out and, after a warning to never come back, they were on the road. Dean was still hung over so he slid his sunglasses on and dozed off against the passenger side window.

Sam pointed them out of town. They were about eight hours from Sioux Falls and he had just about enough room left on his credit cards to get them there. Sam had a post office box on the outskirts of town that he mailed cash to any time they had a little extra. Thinking back over the last year or so, Sam thought he might have mailed himself a few hundred. It’d be enough to keep them settled for a while, as long as they stayed somewhere cheap. Things were a little too weird to be at Bobby’s right now, and as much as he loved the Harvelles, he didn’t want Dean anywhere near a bar for a while. Frankly, he didn’t think _he_ needed to be at a bar frequented by hunters anyway. He started cobbling together an idea as he drove south through the towering hardwood forests, the green and black shapes blurring past his window his only company for miles.

He made it about four hours before he had to stop for gas and by then he already had a general idea what he was going to do. As soon as he shut the engine off Dean woke, wanting to know what was happening to his baby.

“Your ‘baby’ is a big eater, that’s what.”

“Hey, it takes a lot of energy to be this awesome. Besides, Sam, you should always treat a Lady with respect and pay for her dinner.”

“Says the man who’s fucked his way through forty-eight states and portions of Canada; mostly in back alleys and pay-by-the-hour hotel rooms.”

“Yeah, well, most of them weren’t ladies.”

“Obviously.”

“Whatever. In any event, you go ahead and feed my baby; I’m going inside to feed me. You want anything?”

“Why, so you can make some crack about how I’m a lady? No thanks, I’ll get it myself when I go pay for gas.”

Dean smirked and wandered inside. Sam used the opportunity to call Bobby. Bobby didn’t have anything free at the moment, but told him that Ellen might. Ellen had only just answered when Dean came back to the car.

“Harvelle’s.”

“Hey, Ellen. It’s Sam. Listen, can I ask you a favor?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean frowning at him.

“You boys alright?”

“Yeah, no, we’re fine. We just might need someplace to lay low for a little while.”

“Well, you boys are always welcome here, you know that.”  
  
“ I know, it’s just…” he hesitated and glanced Dean’s direction before continuing. “I don’t know that it’s such a good idea for us to be around other hunters right now.”

There was silence on the other end. He almost thought that she might have hung up, except that he could still practically feel the concern coming through the phone. “Ellen?”

“What’s goin' on, Sam?”

“Nothing. It’s just, with the FBI and that shit with Gordon, I don’t think it’s a good idea to push our luck is all.”

“Uh-huh. You wanna try that one again? Maybe this time without the lying?”

Sam waffled for a minute, trying to decide what to say. Dean wouldn’t be happy, but it was _Ellen_. She was kind of frightening when she wanted to be. Besides, he hadn’t been able to tattle on his brother in years. “Dean got hurt and I can’t keep his stupid ass down long enough for the gash in his leg to heal. I don’t want him in a bar, even with us both watching him, because he’s going to end up moving around too damn much and drinking too damn much and probably getting into a fight and he’s already ripped his stitches out once. But, I mean, the other stuff was true too.” He heard Dean’s indignant, “Hey,” behind him. He risked another glance at his brother. Oh yeah, Dean was pissed. Well, he wasn’t the only one.

“Put your brother on the phone.”

“Ellen-”

“Samuel Winchester, do not make me repeat myself.”

He held the phone out, “She wants to talk to you.”

Dean reached across the car and snatched the phone. “You are so going to pay for this, Sam. Ellen, hey. How are you doing?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“Don’t lie to me. Sam said you got hurt and then turned ‘round and ripped your stitches, that true?”

“Well, yeah, but-“

“You got a death wish?”

“What?! No, of course n-“

“You lookin' to get outta hunting?”

“No, you know I’ll never-“

“Then what in the hell do you think you’re playing at; running around, acting like a damned fool, cripplin’ yourself?”

“I’m fine!” Dean snapped, hand tightening uselessly around they phone and glaring daggers at his brother.

“Mind your tone, boy.”

Forcing himself to relax a little, Dean sighed. “Sorry.”

“Now, I’m gonna get you boys set with a place to lie up for a while. You keep your ass parked while that leg heals or it ain't just your leg you’re gonna be worried about, you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Put Sam back on so I can work out where you boys are. And, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Heal quick, kid. I wanna see you boys soon.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Dean said softly. He looked at the phone like it could tell him anything about the woman on the other end, then passed it back to a smirking Sam. “I’m going to kill you.”

Sniggering, Sam took the phone and turned his back on Dean. “Yeah, Ellen?”

“You up north a ways?”

“Yeah, we’re about four hours outta Sioux Falls.”

“You need something near where you are or you need to come down this way more?”

“No, we gotta go down to Sioux Falls first, I’m running a little low on cash.”

“Alright, well, there are a couple a hunting cabins out this way that I can get you set up in. Won’t be much, but you’ll be secluded and it’ll be free.”

“That’d be perfect. Thanks, Ellen.”

“Hell, kid, that’s what family’s supposed to do. You better stop by here when you two are done resting up, you hear me?”

Sam smiled, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Call me again when you get to Sioux Falls, I should have something worked out by then.”

Sam tried to say thanks, but the phone beeped in his ear, letting him know that she was already gone. He ignored Dean grumbling and went into the gas station feeling better.


	15. Chapter 15

As it turned out, Sam had mailed himself $825 since he’d gone back out on the road. He’d forgotten that the first Christmas after he left Stanford, more than a dozen cards had been forwarded to one of their P.O. boxes. All from friends in Palo Alto who wanted to know where he was and all having money or some kind of gift card in them in lieu of a present. He hadn’t been able to deal with it at the time so he’d put the lot of them in a manila envelope and mailed it off. He wondered if any of them had regretted it when the FBI came to ask questions just a couple months later. That still meant that there were an additional hundred dollars in cash and seventy-five dollars in gift cards.

Ellen had already arranged something for them when he called her back. She’d called in some favors and gotten permission for them to use a cabin just north of the border between Nebraska and South Dakota. Google and some stolen Wi-Fi showed the place as out in the middle of nowhere off at least two county roads. He used the gift cards to stock up on supplies and restock the first aid kit. Dean grumbled but stayed in the car while Sam picked up a week’s worth of groceries. If the roads were anything as bad as he thought they were, he knew they’d be in for a while. Especially since the closest township was almost thirty miles away.

It ended up taking them more than three hours to get there instead of the two and a half Google had promised. However, that probably had more to do with Dean freaking out every time Sam got up to twenty-five miles an hour on the gravel roads than the trip itself. Hung over or not, Dean still bitched with every rock that pinged off the Impala’s undercarriage. The cabin was a little more secluded than Sam had been looking for, but that probably wasn’t a bad thing. He’d been telling Dean for months that they needed to go to ground.  

It was simple; wood slating on the side, two windows in front for light, door in the center of a small porch and the key was under the mat as promised. If it had been anymore idyllic, even Sam might have been disturbed. One largish main room took up the left side of the cabin and served as the kitchen, dining room, and living room. The kitchen area was a counter and cabinets that ran the length of the back wall with a double sink in the middle and an island with a stove separating it from the small four-seater table. The living room had a recliner and overstuffed couch on one wall, both old enough to have seen the Regan years, and a small entertainment center on the other. The right side of the cabin was two bedrooms and a bathroom in the middle. There was a queen size bed in the larger of the two rooms, although “large” was a bit of a misnomer, and a twin in the other. Sam called dibs on the larger bed before Dean even made it to the doorway to look. It was old but well kept, like whoever used it wanted a home away from home. Neither of the beds sagged and it wasn’t even that dusty. All in all, it was better than ninety percent of the hotels they stayed in and Sam decided that they probably owed Ellen a lot for it.

It wasn’t a hunter’s cabin and that showed. There were no sigils or devil’s traps visible, there weren’t even any salt-lines; but there was a TV connected to a satellite dish on the roof, more pots and pans than Sam knew what to do with in the kitchen, and a portable washer in the back corner near the sink. They unloaded the groceries into the small fridge and their bags into their respective rooms. Salt and protection took less time than unloading the car did. Dean sprawled out on the overstuffed couch, propped his feet up on the cedar chest that was doubling as a coffee table and started flipping through the 200 available channels, half of which were shopping networks.

The sun was already setting, and dusk was darker in the shade of the trees than it had been out on the road. The only overhead light was in the kitchen, so they turned on the two table lamps in the living room instead. Sam tossed a frozen pizza in the oven and got them each a soda while they waited. Dean just grunted and kept flipping through the channels until he found a Clint Eastwood marathon. It didn’t take long for the smell of pepperoni and melted cheese to fill the room smelling much better than any frozen pizza should. He was surprised by how hungry he was when he pulled it out of the oven, the simple act making his mouth water. He glanced at Dean while he sliced it and noted for the first time the weight that Dean had lost over the last couple months. It wasn’t a lot; Dean was still a perfectly healthy guy in good shape, leg aside. But the line of his cheeks was just a little leaner, the angle of his jaw a little sharper, his well-worn shirt just a little too loose. Sam had known, logically, that Dean hadn’t been eating as much, but it hadn’t really registered until now. He piled half the pizza on Dean’s plate and walked it over to him. Dean cocked an eyebrow at the amount of food but he took the hint and started eating. They ate on the couch and marveled at the idea that Shirley MacLaine was young once. Like every other time he had eaten frozen pizza, Sam was disappointed as soon as he took his first bite. They always smelled fantastic, but tasted like bread and spaghetti sauce. Dean ate all but one of his slices of pizza, so Sam didn’t push it. Instead he stole the slice off Dean’s plate and finished it himself, ignoring his brother’s glare. Dean grabbed them another soda each during the commercial break and settled back onto the cushions, a little more relaxed. It was all very calm, more domestic than they normally were, and more at ease than they had been in months. Sam could feel the tension loosening in his shoulders as Hogan and Sara made their way through the desert.

“Were you telling the truth?” Dean asked around the time that Hogan learned Sara’s secret. He was still facing the television, leaned forward with his elbows resting comfortably on his knees.

They hadn’t said anything in a couple hours, but Sam had a pretty good idea what Dean was asking. “Of course, man, why would I lie about that?”

Dean nodded, the soda still cradled in his hand, ring tapping of the can’s side. It’s a nervous habit he’d never been able to shake. “Ok.”

Sam went back to watching Hogan kill the French when it was clear that Dean wasn’t going to say anything else. Sam stood when the end credits rolled, stretching and relishing the dozen or so tiny pops in his back. He pitched their plates in the trash and found that he didn’t have anything else to do. That was about the time he realized there wasn’t anything else he wanted to do but sleep. It was only ten o’clock but he was wiped out. “I’m gonna crash, man. See you in the morning.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna sit here a while yet. G’night, Sammy.”

Dean turned the TV down since it was right next to Sam’s door and Sam waved his thanks before closing it behind him. A small sliver of light fell under the door and the TV was an indistinct rumble on the other side, but otherwise the room was dark and quiet. Stripping down to his boxers, Sam crawled into bed and barely pulled the sheet over him before he’d passed out.

 

Sam jerked awake; the clock on the bedside table telling him that it was already 1:30, and at first, he wasn’t really sure what woke him. Then he remembered the sound of the door opening and realized that a soft light was falling across the bed. He rolled over and propped up on his elbow to find his brother standing in the doorway watching him. “Dean?” And ok, yeah, that was a little redundant, but he wasn’t entirely awake yet.

Dean walked into the room and sat on the edge of the dresser; his movements slow and careful, unsure of his welcome. “You know I don’t really like to talk, I’m not that great with words. They usually don’t come out the way I mean them to, and all that ‘sharing and caring’ shit gets on my nerves. But not talking is how we got here in the first place and ‘here’ kinda blows. So, since I’m actually going to talk about this, just let me, alright?” He waits for Sam’s nod before he continues, “I don’t know what to do. I’m a little out of my depth here, man, and it fucking kills me to admit that.”

Sam sat up, resting his back against the wall at the head of the bed but he kept quiet and let the silence sit while Dean worked out what he wanted to say.

“Back in Missouri, you asked me how I got started in all of that. Well, about three months after you left, Dad got a call from a friend of his down in Texas about a hunt. It wasn’t much, just a salt and burn. The guy that used to own the house was making a nuisance of himself so Clair called Dad for help. Easy peasy, right? Dad sent me down to take care of it. He was headed out to Colorado himself for something big; said he’d call me in a week and meet me in Oklahoma in a month. Give us each a break. The hunt was simple enough; I tracked down the grave in just a couple days and toasted him on the third. Claire, she was a little more complicated. Turns out, the previous owner had been kind of a stuck up asshole when he was alive. So when a dominatrix moved in and set up a dungeon in the basement, he kinda flipped out a little.”

“How the hell did Dad know a dominatrix?!”

Dean did chuckle a little at that, “Yeah, I was grossed out by it too. She does her own leatherworking, though. That’s her main business, actually. Apparently, she got a custom order from a hunter wanting a bag with certain sigils worked into it. When she did it without question and for a good price she started getting orders from other hunters too; charm bags mostly, a few collars for the guys that specialize in demons, whatever they needed. I don’t think most of them realized what her hobbies were. They just knew she made awesome shit and wouldn’t ask too many questions. Come to that, I’m not entirely sure Dad knew because, well... I don’t think he’d have sent me if he had known what she did in her spare time. Any event, I caught a peek of her dungeon during those first couple days since that was the room the ghost wanted to destroy. I was curious.” Dean made an attempt at smirking but his voice fell a little flat. “She was this awesome woman; confident, banging body, just enough older than me that I knew she’d be a good ride even before I knew what she did. I gave her shit about it and she challenged me, told me I couldn’t take it.”

“So you had to try.”

“Yeah. I had to try. And it was good. Real good. Good enough that I spent the majority of my month off with her and started swinging by whenever I came through that part of the state. It was never anything serious, you know, just me learning and her having fun trying to break me. Then one night I dropped by without calling first and she was already with someone. It was this young, blonde guy with pale skin that pinked up so goddamned pretty. Instead of telling me to leave, she asked me if I wanted to help her. The guy was cute, in a twink kind of way; he was already half gone, and practically gagging for it, so I stayed. And, fuck, that was amazing. Better than sex, in a way. Then on, if I called and said I’d be nearby, she made sure to have someone there waiting on me and she started teaching me how to break them. I can’t really explain the rush that gives you. Taking someone apart and putting them back together, knowing that they feel better, more content because of it. To have this person you barely know let you take care of them, trust you to give them what they need. Just for a little while, you are their entire world. I started to need that. You had fucked off to be Joe College, Dad was always gone on some super-secret mission, and I was left in the middle. By myself. I was still hunting, still saving people, but it’s not the same feeling. So even when I had a falling out with Claire, I just started looking up fetish clubs. It’s kinda surprising how many there are once you start looking for them. I’d drop into one, find someone that just wanted to be had for the night, and do my damnedest to take care of them. I was going at least once every couple months until I picked you up from Stanford. I hadn’t been since.”

“Why?”

Dean shrugged one shoulder, “I didn’t want you to know.”

“So why tell me now?”

In the dim light coming from the living room, he could see Dean duck his head and scratch the back of his neck before he answered, “Because what I did was wrong.”

Sam sighed, “Dean.”

“No, Sam. Just hear me out, ok? What I did was wrong. I got angry and lost control. I didn’t ask you or give you the choice to say ‘no’. I just… took what I wanted. Claimed you in front of everybody like it was my right and that’s not how it’s supposed to be. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t consensual, and it sure as shit wasn’t sane. It’s not supposed to be about hurting you; it should be about fulfilling a need we both have. But I got off on it. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off harder or had a session feel so… intense, with or without sex. I know it was wrong, but then you tell me you liked it and want more and… I’m in over my head here, Sam. I don’t know what you want from me.” Dean finally looked up in Sam’s direction.  

“I want us to be good together again. First and foremost, I want my brother back. Not the guy that keeps running headlong into hunts like he’s trying to get himself killed, and not the drunk. I miss my brother. But, I want the other too, Dean. And I think…” Sam trailed off, weighing his words carefully. Dean shifted impatiently on the dresser Sam pressed on, “I think that if I can’t have that with you, I’m going to have to find it somewhere. From someone.” He could feel how still Dean went, even with the feet separating them.

After a charged silence, Dean forced himself to speak, “Someone else?”

Yeah, that was why Sam had been hesitant to say it in the first place. He’d had enough time to work out that jealousy was what set Dean off the first time. Sam kept his voice soft and tilted his head up at Dean, hoping that Dean could see his expression. “I don’t want to. I want it to be you. I’m not stupid, Dean. I know that no one else will ever get me to feel it as deeply as you did because I won’t trust them. But anything is better than nothing and I need it. I mean, didn’t you ever wonder why I’m always so angry? Angry at Dad, angry at you, pissed at the world for not giving me a normal life? Because I AM angry, all the time. It feels huge, like this living thing inside me, and it has never, ever, been quiet. Until that night. So yeah, I need something and if I can’t get it from you I will try somewhere else.” Those were dangerous words and he knew it. He waited while that sunk in for Dean, let it simmer below the surface before he murmured, “Don’t make me do that.”

Sam didn’t register Dean getting off the dresser until his brother was standing next to the bed. There was a shaking in Dean’s body that told Sam just how upset Dean was. But Dean didn’t move closer, didn’t touch Sam at all.

“No. No one else.” Dean’s voice was dangerously soft, rumbling from so deep in his chest that Sam could barely hear him. He nodded, and watched Dean struggle for control. “If we do this, I want to do it right. There will be rules and I will absolutely expect you to obey them.”

“Of course. But I also need you to understand that this won’t be an all the time thing. I need this, Dean. I need you and I need your help, but this? This stays behind closed doors. I’m not looking for a lifestyle change, and this doesn’t mean that I’m just going to bend over and doing everything you tell me to. When we do this, you’re in charge. Absolutely. But in day-to-day life, we need to be equal. I need you to trust me to take care of you sometimes too.”

Dean huffed a breath, not quite a laugh but close. “Yeah. Ok. I can work on that.”

They both waited, the drone of the TV drifting into the awkward silence between them, neither one wanting to make the first move, or even sure if they should. The sheet was still tangled around Sam’s legs, half wrapped around his calves, and twisted underneath him. The covers had long since been kicked off the end of the bed and the summer air was pressing in on the cabin. Sam felt naked, suddenly aware that he was shirtless and that the legs of his boxers were uncomfortably tight against his thighs because they had ridden up when he twisted around to watch his brother. He couldn’t see Dean’s face well, backlit as he was, but Sam could feel the weight of Dean’s eyes on him, taking in every stray hair and unconscious twitch of muscle. The scrutiny borrowed under his skin, leaving him feeling itchy and nervous.

“I want…” They both started at the sound of his voice and Sam cleared his throat before starting again. “I want to know how to start.”

“You sure you want to start this tonight? You are absolutely sure?”  

“Yeah, I’m positive.” Sam little more than whispered his answer; anticipation was starting to buzz through him. His pulse surged when Dean nodded and started unbuttoning his over shirt.

“Ok.” Dean seemed surer, more confident in himself. That sense of purpose stealing over him and adding weight to his presence even if there was still a slight tremor in his hands. He dropped his over shirt to the floor behind him and toed out of his boots and socks. “On your knees on the bed, facing me.”

Sam pulled himself up, knelt in the center of the bed, and waited for his brother. Dean crawled across the bed on his knees until he was flush against Sam. This close Sam could see the beginning of a smirk on Dean’s mouth and the darkening in his eyes. The smirk was forced and crumbling around the edges but the heat was genuine enough. There wasn’t much of a height difference with them both on their knees so Sam could feel the buckle of Dean’s belt digging into his waist. Dean fisted his hair and jerked his head backwards, his other hand gripping Sam’s hip. The short ache shot straight down his spine and to his cock, making him half-hard in his boxers. As Sam gasped, he reached out, grabbing Dean’s shirt and clenching his fingers in the soft cotton.

“No. Hands at your sides until I tell you otherwise.”

Restraining the exasperation that wanted to slip out, Sam let go and dropped his hands. The pull on his scalp was starting to make his eyes water and blur the already indistinct ceiling. He parted his lips to breath and almost choked when Dean’s lips brush along the vein in his neck. He clenched his fist uselessly at his side when he felt the grin pressed into his skin.

“Last chance to say no.” The words dragged across his throat, Dean not even pulling back to speak. When Sam stayed silent, Dean buried his teeth into the flesh of Sam’s throat.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam’s heart thundered in his chest, beating against his ribs so hard that he was sure Dean felt it. The blood in his body tried to surge everywhere at once, a dark flush spreading across his face and down his chest. He was lightheaded with the rush of it, and barely registered his nails digging into the palms of his hands or his hips giving half-aborted rolls. The drag of his boxers over his fully hard dick was maddening, enough to tease but not enough to help. A quiet whine was snaking out of his throat, not really heard, while Dean continued to bite down and suck at the skin between his teeth. The ache shifted to an actual pain, past pleasure into a hurt that spread across his nerves. His breath rushed out of him in a harsh gasp, trying desperately not to groan aloud. It wasn’t until the bite started to go numb, and he was sure Dean had to have broken the skin, that his brother pulled away. The pain didn’t ease much while Dean licked over the spot; instead shooting and sparking through him with each swipe of Dean’s tongue.

“Fuck.” Sam gritted the word out, rough through his throat. The dull ache in his scalp finally disappeared as Dan let go, fingertips instead scratching down to grip the back of his neck and pulling his face forward to meet Dean’s. Their mouths crashed together, teeth clacking against each other painfully in something way too violent to be called a kiss. Dean biting viciously at him before shoving past Sam’s teeth, tongue mapping Sam’s mouth, then going back to biting like he was trying to own Sam, which was half the point. Three times Sam had to force his arms back down, catching himself before he grabbed Dean. The effort of not touching left Sam shaking and more determined to give his all to Dean, meeting him bite for bite. At some point he tasted copper and wasn’t sure who had bled. Not that it mattered because, him or Dean, it was all the same anyway. It was messy and wet, Dean tasted distinctly like pepperoni pizza and coke underneath the tang of blood, and Sam’s head was reeling from the assault. The front of his boxers was almost soaked and with each minute shift of his hips, he could feel the head of his dick slide across the grooved front of Dean’s belt buckle. All of it was too much, not enough, and he needed it like air.

Dean eventually pulled back and rested his forehead against Sam’s. They stayed that way for a moment, both of them gasping for the breath, and still Sam couldn’t quiet stop the sporadic twitch of his hips. When his breathing was under control, Dean kissed him, a strangely gentle press of lips, and dropped his hand from Sam’s neck.

“Come on,” and Dean moved off the bed. Without the heat of his brother against him, Sam shivered and swayed, not quiet understanding at first his mind still jumbled in sensation. “Now, Sam.”

He scrambled to follow Dean through the door and out into the living room. The dim light of the lamps seemed bright after being in his room and the TV was flickering shades of blue across the floor. Dean was already standing in front of the couch pointing at the end of the cedar chest coffee table.

“Down.” Sam didn’t hesitate; he dropped to his knees next to the coffee table and looked up at Dean, waiting. Dean shook his head, “No; face the coffee table and bend over, arms behind your back.” Sam did as he was told and was surprised to find that the cedar chest was a little less than hip high so bending over wasn’t that far. He crossed his wrists at the small of his back and looked back at Dean expectantly.

“Head down and I expect you to keep your knees little more than hip-width apart.”

As Sam shifted and laid his cheek against the cool wood, he felt Dean’s hands on his arms, pushing them up even further until each hand was holding the opposite elbow. Dean’s fingers ran the line of his spine to the waist of his boxers, “Good,” then he hooked his fingers under the elastic and pulled them off Sam’s ass. He left them halfway down Sam’s thighs, stretched as far as they would go and cutting uncomfortably into skin. “Hold that position.” With a final pat to his ass, Dean walked away and back towards the kitchen.

Sam shifted his ribs and readjusted his hold on his arms trying to settle his weight as evenly as possible while his dick throbbed, trapped between the heat of his body and the cool grain of the wood. As Dean clattered around the kitchen, opening drawers and slamming cabinets, a nervous tension started building in Sam’s chest. He flushed with shame, realizing how he must look; bent over a table in the family room with his shorts pulled down, waiting for his punishment like an errant schoolboy. The TV was even still droning on, canned gunfire popping distractedly from the side. He fought himself, half aborted movements, struggling against the instinct to pull up his shorts and slink away, hiding his vulnerability. He was almost ready to stand when something clattered down on the tabletop just past his head. Looking up he realized that Dean was standing there watching him squirm, silently daring Sam to move. Sam managed to still and rolled his eyes to see what Dean had dropped.

He blinked.

It was a wooden rectangle, maybe ten by six and about a quarter of an inch thick. It looked like two types of wood were glued together in alternating stripes, the middle, and widest stripe extending out into a good-sized handle.

It was a cutting board.

The realization slammed into him knocking the breath from his lungs and his muscles locked, caught between the twin urges to run and submit.

Dean squatted down next to him, gently brushing his thumb along Sam’s cheekbone. As soon as his brother touched him Sam felt some of the tension seep out of his body, a little of the fear easing away. He reminded himself that he asked for this. Needed it. It was Dean, after all, and if there was one thing that Dean would always do, it was take care of him.

Dean smiled softly when he finally had Sam’s full attention. “This isn’t going to be like last time, ok? We’re going to go more slowly and you’re not going to go as deep, but I will still take care of you. You understand that?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now, we’re gonna start with this,” Dean motioned to the cutting board, “and I’m going to use that for at least fifteen blows. You can cry out if you need to, but you will not cuss me, and you will not fight me, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. One of the first things I want you to learn is that when we do this, you get what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. Every part of you belongs to me and you get no relief that I don’t give you permission to have. Trying to rub off against my belt buckle? Was not something I told you you could have. Because of that, you are going to count every spank. If you don’t count it, neither do I. And I’m not going to hold back, Sam. This is going to hurt.”

He hadn’t thought Dean noticed that and the blush that had been disappearing came roaring back, embarrassment staining his cheeks dark red. Dean laid a hand reassuringly on his back, soothing down his spine, while leaning over to place another soft kiss against his lips. “If you get to a point when you absolutely cannot take it or if you need me to stop, use my middle name.” Then he was out of sight, the board gone with him.

Dean didn’t make Sam wait; almost immediately, the board slammed into him, cracking across his ass and driving him forward. The pain was instantaneous, deep and throbbing, that startled a yelp from him. He only just stopped himself from moving when the board came again in the same spot. He did jolt that time, the movement rubbing his dick through the sweat and slick pooling on the smooth surface of the wood. With the third strike he heard Dean behind him, “I don’t hear you counting, Sam. One doesn’t start till you count it.”

The next blow fell and he cried out, “ONE! Shit.”

“Good boy.” And Dean swung again.

The pain was worse now, the entire right side of his ass felt like it was on fire, and already it felt bruised. “Two.” Sam managed to get it out right before the next one and three was more of a moan than the word. It was getting harder not to move with the lid of the cedar chest digging into his thighs and the every swat unerringly falling in the same place. His cock was softening, losing interest despite the slick friction.

“Six. God, please.” There was an ache starting to form in his chest that he didn’t know what to do with and it had nothing to do with his weight making it harder to breath.

“I got you, Sam.” The next three came in quick succession, one right after another. He gave a short scream and dug his nails into his arms, “Jesus! Seven, eight, nine! Fuck!” he could no more stop from arching back and lifting his chest off the table any more than he could stop form crying out.

Dean waited for a moment, running his palm soothingly over the curve of Sam’s ass. “You’re doing well, Sam. You’re already more than halfway there, ok? Just a few more.”

Sam nodded and bent back over, the muscles in his legs and back still twitching and tense. Dean struck him again as soon as his chest touched the table. “Ten,” he hissed out between clenched teeth. With eleven, he put his forehead to the wood, eyes closed. It hurt, so much deeper than the belt, so much wider than the paddle and always in the same damn spot. Twelve ended with his voice thick from the tears starting to form behind his eyes and him lifting off the table again.

“You’re almost there. Just three more. You can do that for me, can’t you, Sammy. You can give me three more.”

Groaning, Sam forced himself back down. He squirmed side to side for a minute rather than let go of his arms, his chest heaving in deep gasps, trying to come away from the pain enough to get through to the end.

His, “Yeah,” was choked and thick with tears but Dean took him at his word. The last three came fast and brutally hard. It was too much. He screamed and came completely off the cedar chest, gripping the edges while he hung his head and bowed his back. Tears were splashing on the cedar top, adding to the mess already smeared there. Dean kneeled between Sam’s feet, arms wrapping around him.

“Alright. You’re alright.” Dean’s hands were wide and dry, rubbing lightly back and forth across his chest, slowly coaxing him upright. Dean was pressed against him; thighs set alongside Sam’s and the denim of his jeans scraping roughly against the bruises on Sam’s ass. He followed his brother’s urging and straightened until he could tip his head backwards and rest it on Dean’s shoulder, though he couldn’t quite let go of the cedar chest. Dean pressed a gentle kiss against the still tender mark on his throat while his hands explored Sam’s body.

“You didn’t count the last three.”

“Dean…” Sam whimpered, and started to draw away out of instinct. Dean closed a hand on his hip and set the other at the base of Sam’s throat, keeping him from going far.

“You’re ok.” Dean’s lips traced the words up to the skin just under Sam’s ear and he shuddered. “You did good for your first time. So I’m gonna to let that slide. I won’t let it go so easy next time, though.”

Next time. The words sent a rush of heat into the bruise-like feeling in Sam’s chest, a kind of diffuse happiness seeping through him. He tilted his head sideways, submitting just that little bit more and Dean took the offering. His lips closed on the bottom of Sam’s ear, drawing the bit of flesh into the grasp of his teeth while he ground his erection against the abused flesh of Sam’s ass. A low growl was rumbling out of Dean and reverberating through Sam’s chest.

It wasn’t until Dean’s hands ran the length of his arms that he even realized he’d let go of the wooden chest or moved at all. Dean’s hair was surprisingly soft under his fingers and he sighed at the loss when Dean gently forced his arms back down.

“Hands at your sides, remember?”

Sam’s frustration spilled out his throat in a needy whine. He needed more; he wanted to touch, damnit. He bowed his back, pushing his ass back against Dean and baring the line of his throat again, begging Dean for more of something, anything. Dean’s laughter seemed almost out of place, but he gripped Sam’s hips and kept Sam as tight against him as it was possible to be.

“Don’t worry, man. I got you. You are not walking away from this wanting, I promise.” Dean took Sam’s cock in hand, gently pulling and coaxing it back to hardness while he mapped out every bit of Sam’s throat that he could reach with lips, tongue, and teeth. Sam choked off a groan and tried to rock forward into his brother’s hand, but Dean wrapped his other arm across Sam’s hips, keeping him mostly flush with Dean’s erection. All the while, Dean never stopped the roll of his hips, half riding the crease of Sam’s ass, the rough weave of his jeans abrading already burning skin. Effectively restrained by Dean’s body and orders, Sam couldn’t do anything but be still and moan while his brother used him however he wanted.

Dean played with him; keeping his grip light, firm enough to get Sam hard but not enough to give him any relief, sporadically pressing his thumb over the head and across Sam’s slit then sliding his hand down to pull lightly at Sam’s balls and roll them in his palm. Teasing until Sam was so hard it hurt. Until his dick red and dripping precome in a steady flow and Dean’s hand was wet and sticky with it. He was flushed and panting, mouthing a silent, “Please,” over and over while he gasped for air. His entire body was trembling, needing more; more pain, more pressure, more of everything.

“Jesus, I wish you could see yourself. How needy you look. Want it so goddamned bad, don'tcha?” Sam couldn’t do anything but moan at that, the words doing almost as much as the maddening drag of Dean’s hand up and down his shaft. When Dean released him, that moan stuttered in his chest, turning into a sob. The feel of Dean’s lips on his shoulder was a distant sensation, overwhelmed by the loss of warmth and pressure around his dick.

“Dean, please.” His voice was cracked and small and he knew he sounded as completely wrecked as he felt. Dean laid a hand on the back of his neck and gently guided him back down across the top of the chest. The wood was still warm from his body and slimy with sweat and tears.

“We’re not done yet, Sammy. Still have to do the other side.”

The other side? And, oh god, something in Sam cracked, slid sideways. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not after that, he couldn’t handle so much again. It was too much, there was nowhere left for him to put the pain, and he couldn’t do it. He pushed up, trying to get up and away but Dean’s hold on his neck just got tighter, keeping his head down against the wood. He didn’t have the leverage to move, trapped between Dean and the chest.

“Sam!”

Dean’s voice lashed across him, stilling his movements. He collapsed against the chest, sobbing. He knew he couldn’t do it. The right side of his ass ached fiercely and he loved it, he did, but he couldn’t handle it again. It was too much, too soon, and he knew he couldn’t take it. He wasn’t strong enough, couldn’t be as much as Dean wanted him to, couldn’t take what Dean was trying to give him. Suddenly Dean was kneeling in front of him, cradling Sam’s face in his hands, and wiping his tears. Sam flinched, startled by the movement, and tried to cringe away.

“Look at me, Sammy.” Dean waited until he was sure that Sam was with him, “Yes, you can. I’m only going to do ten on this side, ok, and you don’t even have to count them. If you absolutely cannot take it, then do like I told you and use my middle name, I’ll stop immediately. But I want you to try. I know you can do this. Trust me, Sammy. You can take it.” Dean smoothed his hair back from his face, gauging his reaction. When Sam gave a barely perceptible nod, Dean’s entire face was lit by his smile. “That’s my boy.”

Instead of standing behind him, this time Dean kneeled on Sam’s left side, where Sam could see him. A slight flush was highlighting Dean’s cheeks and his lips were swollen and red. Even with the inconstant light of the TV behind him, Sam could see the open affection on Dean’s face. He repositioned Sam’s arms behind his back and kept his left hand resting on top of them, as much to comfort Sam as to remind him not to let go.

Like last time, there was no real warning before the impromptu paddle landed hard on his ass. Tears already falling, Sam was much more vocal this set, sobbing or crying out with every blow. Dean didn’t pull the swings, and the crack of wood against flesh was loud in his ears. Every few blows his brother would stop and run his hand reverently over the abused skin, praising Sam and watching him squirm against the gentle pressure. Hell, he was telling Sam how good he was even as another blow landed. Sam latched onto the sound of his brother’s voice and let that steady him while the pain kept growing. Logically, he knew he’d been hurt worse before, but this was so different. He’d asked for this, wanted it, wanted Dean to take care of him, and he was getting exactly what he’d asked for. Dean was taking care of him, giving him what he needed. The hurt was stilling his mind, not leaving room for anything else; any of the doubts and anger that he struggled with every day. Clearing out everything except the pain and Dean’s love.

Ten came quicker than he thought, the blows stopping as abruptly as they started. Sam kept moving as much as Dean would allow him; his skin ached in anticipation of a pain that wasn’t coming. Dean left his hand on Sam’s arms, gently keeping him on the table until Sam went lax, finally realizing that it was over. When Sam gave in and the only movements he made were small, hitching breaths, Dean pulled him to his feet. Dean pushed the boxers the rest of the way down Sam’s legs and pulled him forward to step out of them. Seemingly unfazed by the tears and snot and sweat, Dean tilted Sam’s head down and kissed him. Slowly and thoroughly, with the kind of tenderness that Sam hadn’t known Dean was capable of. Dean’s eyes were dark, completely blown, when he finally pulled back.

“Mine.” It wasn’t angry or possessive, Dean barely breathed the word out, but there was no hesitancy either. It was spoken with the kind of calm assurance that made Sam remember Dean’s earlier promise of a next time. Cliché be damned, Sam’s knees went a little weak, and his heart pounded so hard that it hurt. He only nodded weakly because, really, what else could he say?

“No one else, Sam, and that’s an order. If we’re doin’ this, you don’t touch anyone else. I won’t either.”

Sam was nodding even before Dean finished speaking.

He had a split second to see how blinding Dean’s smile was before his brother’s lips were on his again and Dean jerked him forward, crashing their bodies together. It felt like Dean’s hands were everywhere; framing his face to better angle the kiss, running the length of his spine, gripping his hips to keep them flush against each other. Sam could feel the bulge of Dean’s erection pressed against him. It sent a heady rush through him, knowing that he was affecting Dean so strongly. He wanted to take care of Dean as much as Dean was taking care of him. He wanted to make Dean come undone, have him just as strung out as Sam felt. His fingers curled under the loop of Dean’s belt and pulled, giving Dean more force to grind against him. As soon as he did, Dean’s hand came down in a hard slap across the most painful part of his ass. Sam’s hips startled forward, away from the blow, and his back bowed, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

“What did I tell you about your hands?” Dean growled.

Sam didn’t bother to stop his whine. It sounded way more petulant than he intended but he couldn’t really care. This back and forth between loving and controlling was leaving him floundering. Dean’s eye narrowed. His grip tightened; fingertips digging painfully deep into the meat of Sam’s ass, five points of pressure stabbing into an already formed bruise. The whine Sam was making turned to a pained sound, more because he knew he’d fucked up than because of the pain.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just…” Sam broke off, not sure how to voice what he wanted. He could still feel Dean, hard and insistent against him. He sighed and licked his lips, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. Dean’s eyes dropped to his mouth, tracking the movement, before snapping back up to resume glaring. Suddenly, Sam knew exactly what he wanted. Moving slowly, giving Dean plenty of time to stop him, he started sinking to his knees. “Please,” he whimpered as he slid down Dean’s body, never loosing eye contact, “let me.”

Sam’s knees popped as he went down, stiff and sore from already spending so much time kneeling on the hardwood, but that didn’t matter. Once he hit the floor, he was right where he wanted to be. The outline of Dean’s dick was clear under his jeans and there was a growing dampness up near his waistband. Sam leaned in, dragging his lips up the denim to that spot and mouthing gently at the head. It was sticky against his lips and he turned, rubbing his cheek across it. That startled a broken moan from Dean, who gripped Sam’s jaw and jerked his head upwards.

“Don’t fucking play me, Sam.”

“M’not. Want to. You take care of me; I want to give you what you need.”

Dean watched him for a moment, judging the sincerity of his words. “You ever do this before?”

Sam hesitated, not really sure what the best answer would be.

“I swear to fuck, Sam, if you even think about lying to me, this ends right now. I don’t care what the answer is, but it had better be the truth. Every answer you give me damn well better be the truth.”

Sam rushed on, “Not lying! It’s just… I only tried a few times and I was drunk every time. So, I don’t know. Yes, but not really?”

He could see Dean thinking, trying to decide how this was going to play out. Eventually, Dean used his free hand to pop the top button on his jeans and roll the zipper. The fabric parted, slowly revealing exactly what Dean wasn’t wearing. The head of his dick was almost purple it was so flushed and, as Sam watched, another drop of precome was swelling out the slit. Dean was so turned on that Sam swore he could almost smell it. He leaned forward automatically, needing to taste. The grip Dean had on his face kept him from moving though so he rolled his eyes back up to Dean’s face.

Dean was looking at him with something akin to wonder. He started tracing Sam’s lower lip with his thumb. “You really want to do that, don’t you?”

Instead of answering, he parted his lips, drawing Dean’s thumb into his mouth. It was rough, dry and all Sam could taste was the salt of Dean’s skin. Still he curled his tongue around the digit and gave an easy suck, urging it deeper.

“Jesus.” Dean bent his thumb as he cursed, pushing Sam’s tongue down, and stopping the movement. He opened Sam mouth further, and rubbed his thumb back along Sam’s lips making them shiny with spit. “Don’t move. Not your hands, not your mouth, nothing. Don’t move at all until I tell you.” Keeping his eyes on Sam’s face, Dean angled himself down to Sam’s mouth. He didn’t shove right in like Sam expected; instead painting Sam’s lips with precome and barely pressing in before stopping. “You gonna behave?” Dean’s face was flushed and sweat was already beading on his throat, but he held still, watching Sam. When Sam did nothing but blink up at him, eyes already blown and hazy, Dean grinned.

He moved slowly, pushing forward at a tortuous pace. The weight of his cock on Sam’s tongue and the salty, earthy taste of him made Sam’s mouth water even more. For the third time in just a couple hours, Sam was achingly hard and he didn’t care. There was a wild look in Dean’s eyes and Sam swelled with pride that he’d put it there. He wanted to close his mouth, swallow, and suck until Dean was moaning and coming apart above him. He recognized what Dean was doing for what it was, test and punishment rolled into one. So he did as he was told and stayed still. Dean pushed all the way in until he could feel Sam’s throat swallowing and fluttering around him, trying to keep from gagging. Even then, he only pulled far enough back for Sam to swallow and breathe. Sam’s eyes were watering and even with the small swallows he was making, drool ran down his chin and over Dean’s thumb. Dean bit his lip and started moving. He kept to small thrusts after that, holding Sam’s face in one hand while he rubbed back and forth across Sam’s tongue. No suction but warm and wet and all about control. “Fuck, that’s hot, watching you just sit there and take it. Makes me wanna just fuck your face till I come and watch you swallow it.” The image made Sam moan and Dean thrust twice more before stepping back completely and pulling Sam back to his feet.

“Have you ever let anybody fuck you, Sam?” Dean’s hands were already grabbing his ass, spreading him open. “Anybody ever open you up and have you losing it on their dick?” One of Dean’s fingers was at his opening, making circles and pressing softly against the furled muscle. “Answer me, Sam.”

“Never.” Sam gasped it out. He was shaking all over; hands clenched at his sides, unsure how much he was allowed to move.

The smile on Dean’s face was feral. “Good to know I’ll be the first, then. Get on the couch, hands on the wall.”

Sam moved a little slower this time, not quite willing to look away from Dean as he stripped out of his remaining clothes. The hideous floral embroidery was itchy against his legs but it was easier than kneeling on the floor. It wasn’t until Sam’s hands were flat against the drywall that Dean walked away. The door to Dean’s room swung open followed by the sound of a zipper and in no time at all Dean was back, dropping a bottle of lube onto the couch by Sam’s leg.

“I’m getting tired of telling you to spread your legs, Sam. From now on, assume that they should always be spread more than hip-width. I’ll tell you if I want something different.”

He could feel the embroidery scratching his knees while he shifted his position a little more. As soon as his leg moved the bottle of lube rolled across the cushion, settling in front of him, halfway between his knees. Dean’s hands were back on his ass, rubbing across it and kneading the flesh in his fingers.

“You’re so goddamned red. Jesus, who knew you’d mark up so fucking pretty.” Dean shocked him by biting down on the swell of his ass and the _dirtybadwrong_ of it shot straight to his cock because, Jesus Fuck, who knew his brother was so orally fixated? Every muscle tensed when he heard the snap of the lube cap and he held his breath, waiting. He jumped a little when Dean leaned over his back, mouthing at the mark on Sam’s neck. “Relax, Sammy. This part isn’t going to hurt. It might feel a little weird at first, but it won’t hurt.” Dean’s finger went back to circling, slick and a little cool. With Dean still sucking kisses into the back of his neck and along his spine, Sam couldn’t help but relax into it and Dean finally pushed in.

Dean was right, it didn’t hurt. The stretch felt odd but not painful, and the smooth, in and out motion kind of felt good. Sam’s breath left him in a slow sigh as he relaxed a little more. The shallow thrusting motion got a little faster, a little deeper, and Sam wasn’t even all that tense when a second finger joined the first. Dean’s other arm was braced on the back of the couch, holding himself up so that he could keep nipping on the sensitive place behind Sam’s ear. The warmth of having Dean so close helped him feel surrounded, safe; Sam didn’t notice when he started pushing back with small rolls of his hips, fucking down onto Dean’s fingers, or the low moan that was coming out of him. He did pause when Dean started scissoring and twisting, the stretched sensation getting more intense. It somehow felt mover invasive than the thrusting feeling had. Dean bit the mark on his neck again, distracting Sam. He was surprised that he couldn’t feel blood; Dean had been so concentrated on that spot that it seemed impossible that he hadn’t broken the skin. The pain seemed to spread through his entire neck and Sam knew that it was as much about marking him, leaving a visible reminder of exactly how owned he was, as it was about the pain.  

Dean thrust in hard, there was a sudden bolt of pleasure inside him, bright, and crackling, that seemed to fill the cracks in his awareness. Sam shamelessly bore down, trying to keep Dean’s fingers against that spot. Words he didn’t even recognize were streaming out of him. He knew what the prostate was and what it did, but he’d never thought it would be that goddamned good. Apparently sleeping with his brother was going to be an education. The fingers inside him went still, but Dean gripped Sam’s hip with his other hand and pulled Sam back, urging him to move. Sam didn’t need urging, he rode his brother’s hand, desperately trying to hit his prostate again. He was only vaguely aware of the filth Dean was murmuring behind him while dribbling even more lube over hand and adding a third finger. It was a broken stream of, “so fucking hot,” and “mine, goddamn own you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, anything, just- fuck, Dean.” Sam’s voice was breathy, the words driven out of him as he pushed against the wall for the leverage to grind down even more, push Dean’s fingers even harder against his prostate. The quiet whine building in the back of his throat choked off and died when Dean suddenly pulled his hand away. The sudden emptiness left him feeling hollowed out, bereft. He cursed softly, his head dropping between his shoulders and his stomach fluttering in anticipation. “Jesus, please, Dean.” He knew he was begging and way past caring about it. He needed Dean, needed that aching emptiness filled, needed to come so badly he couldn’t think. Christ, he just _needed._ “Please.”

Dean was wide. Wider than his fingers and it burned, a deep pulsing ache while he slowly pushed in. Sam’s breathing stopped, locked in his chest by the sensation of his brother filling him so completely.

“Breath, Sammy.”

Sam was mildly startled by how rough, how incredibly fucking _wrecked_ Dean sounded. His voice low and whisky shredded, like the words were being dragged across gravel. What Dean was saying finally sunk in and Sam realized that he still wasn’t breathing. He gasped, air flooding his lungs and speeding his heart, the rush sending a tingling sensation through his body and Dean was still pushing in.

“That’s it, Sammy. Relax, let me in. Come on, Sammy, let me in.” Dean’s murmurs were constant presence in his ear and what little part of Sam that could still think had to be amused that _this_ would be the one time Dean wanted to talk. Finally, Dean’s hips were snug against the curve of Sam’s ass and his whole body plastered to Sam’s back, hot and sweat slick. It was surreal. The unpleasant ache was fading quickly behind the idea, the fucking fact that Dean was inside him. Dean had opened him wide and was claiming him in every way it was possible to be claimed and Sam’s brain shut down right fucking there.

When Dean rotated his hips a little, all Sam could do was clench his hands, fingers scrapping uselessly at the wall. “More, I c’n take more.” He spread his legs even further, putting himself even further off balance, but angling his hips so that Dean would slide across his prostate even more. Behind him, Dean’s murmuring ended with a choked off, “Oh, fuck,” before his brother started thrusting.

Dean only gave a couple of gentle thrusts, enough to make sure that Sam really was ok, then he started fucking in earnest. He gripped the meat of Sam’s ass with both hands, loving the fever-hot feel of Sam’s skin and kneading the sore flesh while he did his very damndest to fuck Sam through the couch. “Wish you could see how fucking red you are. So hot.” Dean was pulling, Sam was pushing, and with every snap of Dean’s hips, he was slamming into Sam, the crack of skin against skin almost as loud as the cutting board had been. “Months I’ve been dreaming of this. Been wanting to get inside you and claim every fucking inch, let you know exactly who you fucking belong to.” With every thrust, Sam was letting out breathy little moans, like Dean was driving the air right out of him. Everything was so hot, tight, wet, and fucking perfect. A liquid heat was pooling deep inside him, spreading through his stomach and up his spine and Dean knew he was close. Reaching out, Dean wrapped his hand around the base of Sam’s throat and the other around Sam’s dick. The startled noise Sam made was cut off when Dean hauled Sam backwards, pulling him upright with enough of a grip to get Sam’s attention. Sam’s dick pulsed in his hand, sending another spurt of precome weeping down the head. “Fuck, you loved that, didn’t you?” The heat in his own body ratcheted up so Dean started jacking Sam, grip tight and moving fast. Sam’s hands were clenched, held stiffly at his sides and Dean hummed his approval into Sam’s neck. “So fucking good. You gonna give it up for me, now? Come on, Sammy, come for me, let me have it.” Sam’s entire body was shaking now, his hips were thrusting forward in broken jolts, and Dean’s name was falling out of his brother’s mouth like a plea. Dean flexed his hand on Sam’s throat, just enough for Sam to feel the pressure, while he growled into Sam’s ear, “Do as you’re told.” Sam let out a strangled moan and went still, every muscle in his body locking up as he came. He clamped impossibly tight around Dean’s dick and that was it. Dean had enough mind left to get his hand off Sam’s throat before he accidently choked him then he followed Sam over the edge, coming so hard that his vision went black. It wasn’t until he could feel how much hotter and slicker Sam became that Dean realized he hadn’t bothered with a condom and he was filling his brother with his come. Groaning, he dropped his head down onto Sam’s shoulder.

Sam slumped forward, bracing his arms on the back of the couch and panting and Dean went with him. Neither of them moved for a while, content to stay like that while they caught their breath. Eventually, the bar at the front of the couch was more uncomfortable than Dean could take and he stiffly got to his feet, pulling Sam with him. He briefly thought about laying them down on the couch, but the middle cushion was streaked with Sam’s come, so Dean dragged them back into the master bedroom. He gave Sam a gentle push onto the bed and turned on the bedside lamp before crawling in after him. Sam was on his side, waiting for him, like he thought he might get to spoon Dean or some equally stupid shit like that. Snorting, Dean positioned Sam like he wanted him, on his stomach with his legs spread and his arms under his head. Dean did lie against Sam’s side, propped up on one elbow and running his hand over the bruises on Sam’s ass. Sam twitched, but made no move to stop him, so Dean rewarded him with a nipping kiss to his shoulder and a light slap on his thigh. Sam’s breath stuttered and he relaxed. They stayed like that for a while, a peaceful silence while Dean prodded at the sore places on Sam’s skin, until Sam turned his head enough to look at him.

“Is there something I’m supposed to call you now? Some kind of title or honorific you want me to use?”

Dean snorted, “Could you actually use one and keep a straight face?”

Sam thought for about half a second before he huffed out a short laugh. “Probably not.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Dean is fine.”

“Master Dean?” Sam cracked up, shaking the bed with his laughter.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Just Dean. So freaking disrespectful.” He kneeled between Sam’s legs, pushing them further apart with his knees while he shoved three fingers into Sam. Sam’s laughter choked off into a cough and then a groan.

“Fuck, Dean. What are you doing?”

“What made you think I was done?”  

“Shit.” Sam turned his face back into the pillow.

Dean pulled his hand out and chuckled when Sam spread his legs wider and tilted his hips in open invitation. Dean spread Sam open and thrust his rapidly hardening dick in the cleft of Sam’s ass, his head catching Sam’s rim with each pass. When Sam started mewling, Dean stopped and leaned over his back to speak directly in Sam’s ear.

“I can promise you two things. One, don’t doubt that I will take care of you. That’s my job as you brother and as your top. Whether you need to fight, to hurt, or you just want me to fuck you through the mattress, whatever. If you need something, you come to me and I will take care of you. Always. Understood?” Sam nodded. “Good. Secondly,” Dean gripped Sam’s hips tight to line up. Sam was still fucked open, sloppy and wet, and Dean sank right into his brother, bottoming out in one, slick push. Dean groaned against the back of Sam’s neck and ground his hips forward, wanting to be even deeper while Sam squirmed beneath him. Dean set his teeth into Sam’s skin once before he chuckled and finished speaking, “Secondly, I am nowhere done with you. By tomorrow morning if you aren’t the happiest piece of ass in this state, you’ll definitely be the sorest.”


	17. Chapter 17

They stayed for the couple of weeks that Ellen had cleared them to be there even though Dean’s leg was fine by the end of the first week. They spent the time learning the last pieces of each other, Sam learning about four years of hunting alone, Dean about Jess. They laid the groundwork for this new dimension between them, testing each other’s limits and reserves.

Sam learned that Dean was even more creative than he knew and that in Dean’s hands anything was useful. Like the way Dean put all the knot work they had learned to uses he knows Dad never intended, that a few inches of leather thong makes a pretty effective cockring, or that they both had a huge kink for bondage. Sam learned that he fucking hated the cane, that Dean’s hand could hurt as badly as the paddle, but the belt was his favorite. He also learned that Dean gave amazing massages, and that his brother could be softer and gentler than Sam ever imagined. The small room that Dean had originally claimed never got used.

Once, when they were resting on the couch watching crappy TV, Sam rolled over and straddled Dean’s lap, getting his mouth on Dean’s before his brother could say anything. When they finally broke apart to breathe Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Now? You want to do a scene now?”

“No.”

That was when they figured out that, even without pain, sex between them was pretty fantastic.

They last spent their last two days almost wearing out the small washing machine with everything they had to clean. The middle couch cushion they ended up flipping over.

When their two weeks were up, even Sam was starting to get stir crazy and looking forward to another hunt. So despite the pouring rain they were both in good spirits while they loaded the car. Dean was tickled that he was back to driving and Sam was happy to let him. Especially once the pouring rain became a steady sheet, coming down so hard that they could barely see to the end of the Impala’s headlights. They both relaxed a little when they finally turned onto the black top of the highway. The storm was bad enough that even though it was only seven pm in late summer, it was already dark out and getting darker. When they saw the lights of a small cafe just off the road Dean was more than ready to pull over and let Sam go in to get them some dinner to go.

“Hey, don’t forget the extra onions this time, huh?”

“Dude, I’m the one who’s gonna have to ride in the car with your extra onions.” Dean just grinned at him and Sam got out of the car, sighing and knowing he was going to order the damn onions.

Dean stopped Sam as he climbed out, “Hey, see if they’ve got any pie.” Sam gave him an epic bitchface and slammed the car door. Dean didn’t bother to hide his grin as he continued, “Bring me some pie! I love me some pie.”

Shoulders hunched against the weather, Sam stomped across the parking lot and into the diner. Even through the slatted blinds, Dean watched his brother walk up to a waiter to put in their order. A blast of white noise from the radio caught Dean’s attention. Frowning he looked down to see the backlights flickering along with the static. He turned the knob gently, hoping to tweak the reception, but the entire thing shut off with a hiss. The hair on Dean’s neck stood up and his heart started hammering in his chest. His head jerked up toward the café, but the building was empty. No waiter, no Sam.

He doesn’t remember getting out of the car or crossing the parking lot, but suddenly he was standing inside the dining room, rainwater streaming down his face and soaked into his clothes. The remains of a customer are in a booth to his left, face down in a puddle of blood. The only sound he can hear is the hard hammer of his own heart. He’s already pulled his gun and he thumbs off the safety as he slowly walks the length of the room, sweeping his gaze for any trace of his brother.

“Sam?”

Of course, there’s no answer. That would be too easy. All of the employees are dead, throats slit, and the floor is tacky with blood. Tacky, meaning these people have been dead a while. Working through the building, Dean opened the back door and looked outside. Nothing but rain and grass.

“Sam?!” That was when he noticed a white substance on the door. Even though he knows what it is, his heart still stops when he recognizes it. “Sulfur.” He said it like a curse and ran back through the front door, heading back to the car.

  
“Sam! Sammy!” He waits, not really expecting an answer, but hoping, “Sam? Sammy! SAM!”

 


End file.
